


31 Days to Change Your Mind

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ancient Rome, Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Good at Cunnilingus (Good Omens), Aziraphale is So Done (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bad Puns, Baking, Bells, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Candy Canes, Candy Canes Used in a Sexy Way, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Lists, Christmas Movies, Christmas Smut, Christmas Tree, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Concerts, Crowley (Good Omens) as a Reindeer, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has Breasts (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Is a Bit Sex Obsessed, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dancing and Singing, Dildos, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fireplaces, Fireworks, First Christmas, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Frustrated Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hanukkah, Historical References, Holidays, Hope, Hot Chocolate, Humor, Ice Skating, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, Jewish Holidays, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, Learning to Ice Skate, Light Angst, London, M/M, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Menorah, Mention of Discorporation, Middle Ages, Mistletoe, New Years, No I Do Not Know What Is Wrong With Me, Obscene Stick Figures, Pagan Festivals, Prayer, Sad and Happy, Semi-Public Sex, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), St James's Park (Good Omens), Tea, Wine, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 46,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: It's December and Aziraphale is determined to make it cheerful for the holidays.  Unfortunately, Crowley's not much into holidays, being a demon and all.  But Aziraphale plans activities - and some happen spontaneously from sweet to smutty - in hopes of making Crowley's month just a little more festive. Will he succeed?  Based off of the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompt list.(Yes, this has turned into Christmas smut.  Why do you ask? 😁)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 122
Kudos: 206
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020





	1. A Day at the Rink

**Author's Note:**

> This might not be updated every day since I am involved in several events, a zine or two (as well as developing my own), a gift exchange or two and have my human AU, at least, to keep updated because that's getting close to the climax. So, I'll try to keep up. 
> 
> Please note I'm doing some prompts out of order because I wanted to publish Christmas Eve's prompt on Christmas Eve, Christmas on Christmas, etc. . . etc, even though I fell behind. Publishing dates will be tweaked as I get chapters in their correct order because matching moved chapters' dates with the chapter number is an easy way for me to keep track of what's been organized. Everything's pretty loosely connected so having them out of order initially won't matter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wants to go ice skating. Crowley takes him and has a few surprises of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ice skating
> 
> And here we go again . . . I must have some kind of serious masochistic streak. 😂

Crowley entered the bookshop once again without bothering to knock or even unlock the door but Aziraphale was used to it by now. He looked up from the catalogues he was perusing, gazing at Crowley over the rims of his old-fashioned reading glasses before his gaze returned to what he was doing, which was ordering more bestsellers for the bookshop, as much as he disapproved of such actions. One had to make money somehow when one no longer received celestial wages.

“One day I’m going to put a ward on that door just to keep you on your toes, my dear.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Crowley collapsed on the couch. “So, what are we going to do tonight?”

“I want to go out.”

“The Ritz?”

“No. It’s December, Crowley, and I want to spend the month doing holiday things. Won’t that be fun? Humans have their own traditions, therefore why can’t we?” 

There. He had his order form done. He would have Crowley enter it in electronically later tonight as they required nowadays. It was a strange process he didn’t quite understand.

“Fun for you. I’m not exactly a holiday kind of guy, angel. Holidays have religious roots and I’m a demon. I think that’s enough explanation for you to put two and two together.”

“Yes, but you’re not in Hell’s employ any more, so let’s live a little.”

“I’ve lived _a lot_.”

Aziraphale shot him A Look, disapproving and stern like he had screeched loudly in the library and been caught by the librarian. Crowley sighed. He was not getting out of this one, he figured. Time to just concede and get it over with so everything returned to normal in a day or two when Aziraphale’s mind wandered on to the next shiny object. That was the usual pattern for the last six thousand years. Aziraphale developed an interest in something very human only to find it wasn’t as exciting as he thought before either moving on to the next so-called exciting thing or returning to his tried-and-true activities of enjoying good food and drink, and reading.

“Get off that couch, we’re going ice skating.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’ve been on this Earth for six millennia and never once have I ice-skated.”

“You’re not going to like it once you’ve fallen on your bum for the first time.”

Yet he was on his mobile looking up the nearest ice skating rink and hoping they didn’t need to drive miles to get to one. Luckily there were several close and Crowley chose the one near London Tower for the scenery — there was nothing like combining a thoroughly modern facility with the rough ancient wall of a past fortress. The irony was delicious. At least he could amuse himself enjoying the juxtaposition while Aziraphale got this sudden need to ice skate out of his system.

“Get a warm coat, angel. It’s cold out.”

Aziraphale was already putting on his heavy beige overcoat and wrapping a light blue scarf around his neck. That was followed by matching mittens and a beanie with a white bobble on top. Crowley tried not to roll his eyes. His one concession to the cold was a red scarf laid on top of the black woollen pea coat he had switched out his usual coat for. 

“Mittens, angel? On strings?”

“Yes. On strings. I lost one of the warmest pair of mittens I had ever owned back in 1934. They were even lined with rabbit fur. I was upset over the loss of those mittens for decades and I decided never again.”

“You could miracle up a new pair.”

“It’s not the same, Crowley.”

Ready, they headed out the door to the Bentley and Crowley drove them off to the skating rink. Once there, they waited in a short line to get in, then another to rent skates.

Sitting down on a bench, Crowley helped Aziraphale get into his skates, shoving them over the tartan socks and instructing the angel to pull them up tight. Aziraphale now eyed the footwear dubiously, while Crowley shoved his feet into his own, stomping down on the pads beneath the bench to make sure his heels were in them solidly before he began lacing them up. Aziraphale hadn’t moved to tie his, causing Crowley to quirk an eyebrow at him.

“What’s wrong now?”

“They’re black.”

“So? They’re rental skates. It’s not like they’re something you’re going to wear every day,” Crowley replied in a tone that carried hints of exasperation. “You wore that black coat as a magician just fine.”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

“Magicians _wear_ black coats.”

“And human ice skaters _wear_ black skates.”

“I’m not a human ice skater.”

“Fine . . . okay . . . fine . . .” This utterance of words was followed by a string of pointless noises before Crowley recovered enough to speak again. “You’re supposed to blend in, Aziraphale.”

With a sigh, he changed the colour of the skates from black to a passable beige while Aziraphale melted into one of those wonderfully grateful smiles of his. Sometimes Crowley very much lived for those smiles while at others, they merely kept him from doing anything more drastic than muttering darkly to himself about angels who were set in their ways. One took the annoying with the good when one was in love. It was all part and parcel, especially with Aziraphale.

“Thank you, my dear.” It was accompanied by a kiss on his cheek, leaving that spot cold for a moment when it was again exposed to the air. “Now how tight to I need to lace these?”

“Very. No wiggle room or you could turn an ankle.”

That miracle Aziraphale performed himself while Crowley pretended not to notice. 

“Ready?” he asked Aziraphale as he stood up and put out a hand, steady on the padded area laid out before the skating rink.

Aziraphale allowed him to pull him to his feet which were wobbly as he learned how to balance on the two blades. He looked at Crowley in amazement. 

“How are you doing that so well?”

“I spent five years in Canada a few decades ago, remember? I was supposed to tempt a corrupt hockey coach into betting against his own team, so I learned to play the game to make tempting that much easier. Apparently, I was one of the best left wingers the team ever had.”

“Oh. Yes. I remember that. I’m surprised a skinny thing like yourself didn’t end up pulverised by all those large players.”

“A little demonic intervention made sure that didn’t happen. Besides, I wanted to learn. All the younger demons were having fun skating down the frozen road to Hell and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Plus, the checking skills came in handy. Nobody tried to crowd me, ever. C’mon, angel. Let’s get you to the ice.” 

Aziraphale cautiously stepped out to the rink, Crowley performing a small demonic miracle to keep space between them and everyone else using the rink as Aziraphale wobbled through his first attempt at ice skating. Shakily hanging on to Crowley, he shuffled forward with little baby steps, barely taking the long sweeping strides many of those on the ice were using to propel themselves forward across it. He looked down at his own feet, which only made matters worse as he felt himself start to tip forward and gripped Crowley even tighter. It was a good thing demons didn’t require circulation in their limbs.

“Don’t look at the ice. Look straight ahead,” Crowley advised before stumbling and recovering. “Damn toe pick. Hockey skates don’t have them.”

Aziraphale raised his head, resisting the urge to keep looking at his own feet. He resolutely stared straight ahead, watching the people in front of them glide around the oval rink effortlessly and felt just a tad envious of their ability. He suddenly wished that he hadn’t suggested this activity. But he started to feel a bit more confident the further along they skated, standing up straighter to keep from feeling like he needed to look down again.

“Quit leaning back,” said Crowley. “You’re going to fall on your arse. What you want is to have balance. Don’t leave forward, but don’t compensate by leaning backwards, either. Okay?”

Aziraphale wobbled, then corrected, the skating suddenly becoming easier.

“There. See? Baby steps. Bend your knees.”

“I didn’t expect this to be so difficult,” said Aziraphale as they completed one round. 

Crowley laughed. “You’re gliding over ice on two thin metal blades, angel. It’s going to take some practice.”

They wobbled on, starting their second turn around the rink, a bit of a wind picking up. The bobble on Aziraphale’s hat swayed slightly; Crowley’s locks did not dare to move. The terror from last time was still fresh in whatever passed for memory in hair. Crowley grasped the angel tighter, just to be safe as he didn’t want Aziraphale to be subjected to the embarrassment of falling since ice skating had turned out to be a rather rude awakening for him rather than the fun activity he thought it was going to be. 

“You’re getting better. Let’s just let the wind pass here, you know how it is, and I’ll let go a bit so you can try more on your own.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him, love sparking in those perfect sky blue eyes and immediately was less secure on his feet. He quickly looked forward, bent his knees and checked his balance. It worked. He was immediately more steady and feeling more confident in his abilities. Crowley grinned at him, squeezing his arm with pride.

“See? You can do this. It just takes practice.”

They made it around at a faster pace this time, Crowley letting go a little more every so often until he was only holding Aziraphale by the wrist. Skaters moved about them — some whizzing by at fast speeds, other moving at a pace that wasn’t much faster than they were going. In the middle of the rink, those with the skill and the confidence performed more professional moves from jumps to pirouettes. The angel looked at them longingly.

“You’re going to have to work at it, Aziraphale. Or use a few miracles. I’d advise against that this time. People’ll notice you’ve suddenly gone from beginner to superstar.”

“Maybe some other time, then.”

They circled around a few more times before Aziraphale’s ankles began to ache. Taking Aziraphale by the arm, Crowley led him back to the entrance where he helped him up on to the padding again then to an empty bench. He asked Aziraphale if he needed help getting the skates off. Aziraphale shook his head.

“I think I can manage, my dear. Thank you.”

They turned their skates back in and strolled leisurely back to the Bentley where Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale before getting in himself. He started the ignition with a thought and warm air blew through the passenger compartment, banishing the cold they both were feeling. It was wonderful. Aziraphale gave Crowley a smile as the demon shifted the car into gear. They were moving now, Aziraphale watching the skating rink disappear from view thinking it was a rather successful first time.

“That was rather lovely.”

“I take it you enjoyed it, angel?”

“I believe I would like to go again sometime. You skate very well, my dear. After all this time, you continue to surprise me.” 

He leaned over, reaching out to comb a hand through Crowley’s hair, knowing very well the Bentley could drive herself if he distracted him. Crowley’s head turned and he found himself kissing his partner while the Bentley obliged them both by continuing to safely navigate the streets of London on her own. The deep kiss lasted several blocks before Crowley ended it with a laugh and placed his hands on the wheel once again.

“Sorry, angel. We’re getting close to home and you know the Bentley never does park close enough for my tastes.”

Pulling up to the kerb in front of the bookshop, which suddenly became a legal parking spot, Crowley killed the engine, caressing the steering wheel one last time before getting out. Aziraphale was already at the door unlocking it by the time Crowley shut the driver’s side door and circled around to the pavement in front of the bookshop. He put an arm around his angel, giving a little squeeze.

“Thank you, Crowley. It was wonderful to have you teach me.”

Crowley just shrugged in response as they entered the bookshop. Once inside they would strip off their outerwear to hang on the coat stand then head for the office. Aziraphale would make some piping hot tea and they would spend the night warming each other up on the couch, Aziraphale reading his latest find while Crowley used his mobile to catch up on news. It was quiet enough one could hear the crowds outside passing by on the pavement just beyond the bookshop’s walls. When the foot traffic finally stilled, Crowley stirred.

“Shall we head upstairs, angel?”

“Oh yes . . . of course.” Aziraphale smiled up at him after taking in the time. 

They stood up, Aziraphale bringing his book with him. The two would retire to the bedroom where Aziraphale would settle in to continue his reading while Crowley slept peacefully wrapped around him. He didn’t know it, but Aziraphale would often pause during the night to simply watch him, lifting his hand to kiss or brushing hair off his face while he smiled at the newly made memories of learning to ice skate.


	2. Measurements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversions can be frustrating, as Aziraphale soon learns when he wishes to make cocoa from scratch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hot cocoa/cider

The day after ice skating, Aziraphale was up in the flat’s kitchen making cocoa from scratch. Retrieving the dusty kettle from the back of the cooker, he dusted it off, filled it with water and returned it to the hob while he stared at the knobs for a moment to figure out how to turn it on. It was rather easy once he read the dial, but he still wasn’t taking chances, stepping back rather nervously, in case disaster struck. Aziraphale always made cocoa downstairs in his kitchenette and his cooking skills were non-existent beyond the ability to do that and make tea. Hopefully, he didn’t ruin this entire experiment. For once he wanted to make real cocoa, not simply heat up water and add a packet or two of purchased powdered mix, depending on how much he was craving its sweet flavour.

On the counter sat a bowl and all the ingredients he’d need to mix up his own cocoa mix. Beside those was a vacuum-sealing container he planned on storing the finished product in. Getting out some measuring spoons and jugs from a cabinet he had opened maybe twice since he had refurbished the upstairs flat — he and Crowley simply couldn’t spend all their time on the couch downstairs — he pulled his recipe closer and got to work.

“All right . . . let’s see here . . . ten cups of powdered milk,” he read. “Cups? Who uses cups? Oh dear . . . did I have Crowley download an American recipe by mistake?” 

He grabbed one of the measuring jugs and squinted at it. It had cups on one side, but millilitres on the other, meaning it was meant for liquids, not solids. Aziraphale sighed. He grabbed another, managing to find one meant to measure dry goods but it didn’t have cups on it at all. None of the dry measuring ones did. Aziraphale sighed again. He was going to have to venture downstairs to get on the internet and find conversions because he was determined to get this right. This was his planned activity for the day. Yes, he was determined to make some hot cocoa delicious-smelling enough to tempt Crowley with. The angel was serious about his goal of making the month of December festive for his demon. 

Down the spiral staircase, he went, heading to the backroom where his ancient computer sat. Turning it on, he pulled up the browser Crowley had put on it — it didn’t matter it was too old to even run this browser, let alone connect to the internet, it worked because Aziraphale and Crowley wanted it to work. Tentatively, he typed in he wanted to convert cups to grams. There. He had managed to conquer the Google this time. Aziraphale smiled a very smug smile, feeling rather proud of himself. 

“Okay, one hundred and twenty-eight grams in a cup . . .” He squinted at the screen and read. “A density is required for converting between cups and grams when cooking because different ingredients have different densities.”

His face fell. How was he supposed to know the density of the ingredients he was using. How did one use the Google to calculate that? Carefully, he typed “density of powdered milk” in the Google and tapped return. The Google gave him a list of websites and he clicked the first, https://www.aqua-calc.com/page/density-table/substance/milk-coma-and-blank-powdered. The screen before him read:

“ **Milk, powdered** weighs 0.449 gram per cubic centimetre or 449 kilograms per cubic meter, i.e. density of milk, powdered is equal to 449 kg/m³. In Imperial or US customary measurement system, the density is equal to 28 pounds per cubic foot [lb/ft³], or 0.26 ounce per cubic inch [oz/inch³] .”

Aziraphale adjusted his reading glasses. “And what exactly does that mean? What am I supposed to do with that information?” 

He dutifully wrote it down on the pad of paper next to his ancient computer and stared hard it at, as if he could figure out how to use powdered milk’s density to magically turn grams into cups — which he technically could, even if he was forgetting this detail at the moment. Upstairs the kettle began to whistle. Aziraphale waved an irritated arm in the air, turning off the hob with a miracle. He got back to it, tapping in inquiry after inquiry until his pad of paper was full of scribblings in his neat copperplate writing, but none of it added up unless one could do complicated maths. And he had run into another problem — “cups” could mean a couple of different things. There were U.S. cups and there were Imperial cups. Aziraphale had no clue what kind of cups he was using here. 

Dropping his head into his hands, he felt like an absolute fool. How could he not be able to do something as simple as making home-made cocoa for himself and Crowley? Obviously, he should just keep to heating water to stick things in and dinners at the Ritz because learning to cook was not going to happen. Rubbing his neck, he tried not to let the frustration get to him. This was supposed to be a festive time of year and he certainly wasn’t feeling very festive at the moment. Now, how could he correct this problem so he could get himself back on track? 

He had just wiped away a couple of tears when the bell jingled, announcing someone’s arrival. It could only be Crowley as he had kept the bookshop closed for today. He twisted around in his chair, awaiting the arrival of the demon. He was not disappointed. Crowley walked in, tucking his sunglasses in his coat pocket before taking it off and draping it over a handy chair.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” He bent to greet him with a kiss and took his chin in his hand. “You look so frustrated. What’s up?”

“I can’t even make cocoa mix like I planned for today’s activity.”

“What went wrong?” Crowley was kneeling beside Aziraphale’s chair now, a comforting hand on his leg.

Aziraphale threw up his hands. “All I wanted was a simple recipe, but instead I get one that uses cups instead of grams. Only conversion is not simple because you have to take density into consideration. On top of that, there are imperial cups and U.S. cups. I do not know what kind of cups this particular recipe I have calls for. It does not say. So, I came down here to do an hour’s worth of research only to have it be fruitless.”

He pulled out the pad of paper covered in scribblings to show Crowley. Crowley took it, looked it over then set it back down so he could take Aziraphale’s hands in his. A tear was rolling down the angel’s cheek and Crowley leaned in to kiss it away. 

“Oh, angel. I’m sorry. We can go somewhere and get some fantastic cocoa if you want. There’s that café across the street you love.”

“That’s not the point. The point was for me to make it and then we drink it together. Because you never order cocoa at the coffee shop and you always decline when I offer you some in favour of scotch or tea. I want you to know how cocoa tastes and why I like it so much.”

Crowley smiled gently at him. “I never did have your sweet tooth, you know, but maybe there’s something else we can do.”

His arms surrounded Aziraphale in a soothing hug, his lips placing chaste kisses along his jawline up to his mouth where Crowley claimed it and gave him a kiss that bordered on deep while still not straying into the area of lust. Maybe they would do something later, but for now, Aziraphale needed comforting, not sex. Aziraphale physically relaxed somewhat, moving so he could place his head on Crowley’s shoulder, even if it was a bit awkward with him sitting and the demon down on one knee in front of him. Crowley gave him time to calm down before suggesting that they take it over to the couch. 

“My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

“We don’t age, Crowley, you silly thing.”

“True, but I saw a smile there.”

They sat, Aziraphale with his head on Crowley’s shoulder as his partner stroked his curly blond hair. His voice was muffled as he spoke.

“I just want this month to be festive so you can see how wonderful the holidays can be. I only have thirty-one days to show you how wonderful all the December holidays can be.”

“I don’t want that at the cost of your happiness, angel.”

Aziraphale burrowed his face into Crowley’s waistcoat, feeling its softness as he took in the demon’s scent — sandalwood, lavender and leather. It was soothing and he soon had himself calm again. He breathed in and out a few times, now feeling ready to face the world again, even that cocoa recipe that would not cooperate. Maybe with Crowley’s help, he could get it to work out. Lifting his head, he made eye contact with him. Crowley cocked an eyebrow in question.

“I think I can handle the cocoa recipe now.”

“Let’s not bother with cocoa, angel. There’s a good chance it’s just going to frustrate you all over again.” Crowley coaxed him to his feet and a bottle of cider appeared in his hand. “How about this, instead? I learned a few years back how to make an excellent mulled cider. I’ll just conjure up a few ingredients and we can work on together.”

Aziraphale gave a small smile as they walked to the spiral staircase. “That sounds wonderful, Crowley.”

Crowley decided now would not be a good time to mention that Aziraphale could have just conjured up the correct measurements, measuring containers with cups or a recipe that used grams instead. Sleeping on the couch was not something he really wanted to do tonight. That was certainly not his idea of festive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t know, cider in the UK and a lot of other countries is alcoholic, unlike in the U.S., where “hard cider” indicates it has alcoholic content. So, yes. Aziraphale and Crowley are probably going to go upstairs and get drunk.


	3. A Novel Use for Candy Canes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes sex can get festive. Expect peppermint-flavoured blow jobs and candy cane sex toys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Candy cane

Crowley rolled over in bed, slamming the pillow down over his head to keep Aziraphale’s cheerfulness, and the sunlight, out. He had failed to correct his drunk state last night after drinking all that mulled cider and now had a splitting headache. Taking a moment to calm the throbbing with a wish, even that didn’t pique his interest in getting up to go do something Christmas-y with the angel. He wished Aziraphale would just go back to sleep instead of walking about the bedroom humming Christmas tunes while preparing for the day.

“Why?” he groaned.

“Why what?” asked Aziraphale.

“Why are you so cheerful?”

“It’s a brand-new day, Crowley. Why wouldn’t I be appreciative of that?”

“Because it’s not normal.”

“Get up, my dear. I have plans for us.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m naked.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes out of Crowley’s view. 

“I assure you that it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“I want a blow job.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I could make it taste like a candy cane. Ha. Did you see what I did there? I made it festive.”

Aziraphale muttered the care and feeding of a demon wasn’t always the simplest of tasks. Crowley had rolled over out from under the covers, lithe body very much on display and very much aroused, smiling to notice the angel’s eyes drawn towards certain areas. Crowley wrapped a hand around himself while making eye contact with Aziraphale as he stroked his cock a few times before bringing his hand up to his mouth. Sticking a couple of fingers inside, he sucked them sensuously for a moment.

“Yep. I can make it taste like mint.”

“I was planning on Christmas activities we can do together, Crowley, and here you are thinking of sex.”

“What? Sucking on my candy-cane-flavoured cock wouldn’t be an activity full of holiday cheer?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Crowley ran his wet index finger along the head of his cock, his handsome face smiling seductively. “Always. But you like me that way or we wouldn’t be dating, now, would we? C’mon. A quickie. I’ll return the favour.”

With a wave of his hand, he wished up a glass candy cane-shaped dildo, complete with red stripes running through the clear glass. Aziraphale looked at it and swallowed as his partner grinned at him. Crowley twirled it around a couple of fingers before contemplating it for a moment or two while Aziraphale imagined the possibilities in his mind, resulting in visible reactions from other body parts. They did not escape Crowley’s gaze, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin.

“Well, if you want to use real ones, we could see how many of those fit in your arse.”

“No, thank you. That sounds rather uncomfortable.” Aziraphale was back on the bed, brushing his hand through Crowley’s short stylish hair. “Although it would be to my advantage if I do grant your request and give you that blow job.”

Crowley scooted closer, reaching out for a kiss, which he received because Aziraphale loved indulging him in such a manner. He latched on, asking for it to go deeper by nibbling slightly, his teeth clicking against Aziraphale’s. The angel turned his head, allowing for a more perfect connection between them, the two of them tangling up in each other, hands in hair as their tongues explored each other’s mouths. Crowley moaned, making his desire more obvious to Aziraphale, who was always turned on by Crowley’s signals. He removed his hands from Crowley’s hair to start to unbutton his waistcoat only to feel Crowley’s fingers over his own.

“Allow me.”

Crowley maintained eye contact as he slid the waistcoat off of Aziraphale, sneaking in sensuous kisses as he pulled it off his arms to leave it ignored on the floor. His serpentine eyes broke contact for as long as it took to unbutton Aziraphale’s shirt and remove it, running his hands over Aziraphale’s chest from collarbones down over his round belly that Crowley bent to worship with plenty of kisses. Aziraphale set his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, leaning back to allow the demon a better angle to do his thing, the angel eating up the attention.

“You’re so perfect,” muttered Crowley, who knew, like everyone, Aziraphale needed the occasional praise of his physical corporation. 

He laid his cheek against the soft warmth of that belly, feeling the give beneath his head as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and hugged him. He could have remained there forever, feeling his angel’s soft skin against him, but he pulled himself up again to lick and kiss along Aziraphale’s torso and belly until he felt the need to remove his trousers as well. Crowley fumbled with the buttons and zip, Aziraphale standing so they could be stripped off easier, leaving him just as naked as the demon was. Crowley found himself roughly pushed to the bed with Aziraphale situating himself between his legs.

“We’re done with foreplay?”

“I’m most interested in this peppermint idea of yours, my dear. I want to find out if it’ll be to my liking.” Aziraphale’s blue eyes sparkled.

Taking the lower part of Crowley’s shaft in his hand, he licked along the exposed portions from base to tip, his eyebrows raising in surprise as Crowley chuckled. It did taste like peppermint. Aziraphale was never one to turn down giving Crowley a blow job, as he did enjoy it, but this made the sexy task extra pleasant. Why hadn’t they thought of this before? He licked along Crowley’s head, tasting the sweetness as he concentrated on the ridge, listening for the moans that told him he was doing exactly what Crowley needed.

It was a rather interesting difference . . . he was quite used to Crowley’s normal taste and had no issue with it, making the sudden change strange as well as interesting. The cooling bite of peppermint coating his tongue, he sucked harder, taking all of Crowley’s member in his mouth now, his hand resting on his thigh. Crowley shifted, squirming on the bed with his desire, thrusting slightly in a manner that did not bother Aziraphale. He plunged on, bobbing his head in time with Crowley’s minute thrusts, enjoying the pleasure he gave his demon. 

He was about halfway through the blow job when he discovered the one thing they overlooked — that peppermint was not only cooling but numbing. Aziraphale’s tongue was starting to experience patches of numbness, causing him to drool excessively. This was quickly turning into a very sloppy blow job as his saliva thoroughly coated Crowley’s cock with a few tendrils dripping out of the angel’s mouth on to the bed. Aziraphale paused to swallow and miracle his tongue back to its normal state of feeling while Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Peppermint’s numbing. We forgot that.”

“Heh. You should just let yourself go numb. I want to see you slobber.”

“No. Just for that, I’m going to make you climax, forget about that fun teasing.”

He licked around the head again, teasing against the slit, pulling off to kiss it all lightly, getting bolder in the end and finally plunging his mouth all the way on it to suck hard until Crowley’s pants almost became yelps of delight. Aziraphale had to admit the flavouring didn’t hurt one bit. He got back into it, going deep enough that Crowley’s cock was sitting against the back of his throat as he sucked and played lightly with his balls. Crowley had his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and was rubbing them, the massage getting rougher the more Aziraphale sucked until the angel was sure he was losing layers of skin. It was a good sign; Crowley was getting closer. He doubled his efforts — massaging Crowley’s inner thigh, brushing fingers along his balls, sucking until he thought he’d walk away from this with a world-class headache.

“Are you ready, angel?” Crowley’s voice was rough. 

Aziraphale tapped his thigh, their signal the one giving the blow job was prepared. It was the first time he had ever swallowed a load that didn’t taste of salt and he liked it. Again he pondered, why didn’t they think of this before? He didn’t even bother to vanish it as soon as it hit his mouth like he did most of the time so he didn’t have to bother with a taste that put him off. He might as well have been drinking a candy cane. 

“Oh, Aziraphale.”

With Crowley starting to soften in his mouth, Aziraphale let go, heading up towards his head where things always remained interesting. 

“Kiss me,” Crowley begged, pulling the angel in closer for more as if he was never showered with loving kisses and touch on a daily basis. 

Long deep kisses followed, the two of them pressed against each other with hands roaming over backs as they touched tongues, Crowley especially interested in Aziraphale’s taste. He licked over his tongue several times causing the angel to chuckle directly into his mouth in his amusement. When they finally pulled apart, he smiled at Crowley.

“Yes, you did well. It did taste like a candy cane from beginning to end. Now, are you going to give me one in return?”

“Still thinking of using the candy cane dildo. What do you think? Want to? Going to switch efforts for it, or shall we use your arse?”

Aziraphale laid out comfortably on his stomach, sky blue eyes looking up at Crowley seductively as he stretched out. Crowley grinned in response and wasted no time in slowly inserting into Aziraphale, teasing and tempting by occasionally pulling out a few centimetres before continuing to push into both Aziraphale and Crowley’s delight. The demon leaned forward on to Aziraphale’s back as he slid the candy cane-shaped dildo in and out, pulling and pushing it across the right areas that made Aziraphale moan and his cute arse wiggle just so. He found he wanted to bite it. 

“Crowley! What are you doing?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“Goodness! Warn me next time before you decide to take a nibble, please? It felt good, but it was rather surprising.”

“Can I bite you? Put little nibbles here and there all over your back? You’re delicious, angel and I do so want to taste every part of you. I could just shove this in and leave it to drive you crazy while I nip my way all along here . . .”

Aziraphale cried out as Crowley gently nipped at a love handle, moving towards his spine in a pattern of bites that varied from tender to more serious, but never hard enough to leave more than a passing red mark. Crowley did enjoy a bit of sadism but only properly negotiated beforehand. Now was not the time to start fooling around. He had got off; it was now Aziraphale’s turn. He grasped the hook of the candy cane again, sliding it in and out once again if only to watch that adorable arse squirm as he worked the dildo with one hand and ran the other over the red marks he had just left across the small of Aziraphale’s back with the other. 

“There. Doesn’t that feel good? I’m hitting all the right places with this thing, aren’t I? What if I just wiggle it a bit?”

Aziraphale let out a muffled sound, head buried in the pillows as Crowley pressed the cane into just the right areas. The demon could have sworn his hips raised a few centimetres. Grabbing a nearby pillow that was sitting unused, he shoved it under Aziraphale’s pelvic area to see if that did anything for him. It must have because he leaned into the dildo as Crowley established a pattern of a few wiggles here, some thrusting there to keep Aziraphale on his toes. It was satisfying to watch his angel’s well-manicured fingers clench the pillow. Any stronger and he’d be ripping a hole in it with that angelic strength of his.

“I think I like this, angel. I love seeing you writhe like that so much. The moans just add to it. I might be physically done for now, but you’re keeping me mentally turned out. How do you manage to do that, you little minx?”

And he thrust quickly in and out, bringing Aziraphale to orgasm, enjoying the angel’s screams as he came hard, leaving quite the wet spot on the expensive sheets. No matter; it would be gone in mere minutes as miracles could be wonderful conveniences. He slid out the dildo to vanish it, clean and dry, to the drawer in the nightstand where they kept any sex toys they imagined into existence as they needed them. It was filling up rather fast, but considering the drawer could become infinite if he required the space, he didn’t worry about it. Instead, he lay next to Aziraphale to stroke his hair as he panted excitedly beside him. A little snogging would be in order, for now, followed by a nice nap, even though they just woke up. Crowley loved to sleep and could never get enough of it.

“How was the festive sex?” 

Crowley was inordinately pleased with himself. Maybe now he wouldn’t have to participate in any Christmas ideas that popped into Aziraphale’s blond head. He was wrong. As he attempted to curl around the angel for a bit of a nap, Aziraphale stirred, sitting up to look at the clock on the nightstand. He pushed Crowley away as he got out of bed again.

“Look at the time. It’s almost eleven. We need to get dressed, get ourselves some breakfast and head down to the bookshop. I don’t know how long it will take to make those two candy cane-striped wreaths I was planning to put up on the front doors because I’ve never done such a craft myself. I am so glad I have you to help out.” 

He beamed at Crowley, pulling on his boxers followed by his trousers and shirt. Crowley, cheated out of a day in bed with his angel, flopped back against his pillows, defeated. 


	4. Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shelf containing Aziraphale's snow globe connection collapses. The argument over whose fault it is results in some hard feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snow globe

Aziraphale tested the newly-made candy cane wreaths that lay on the back table overnight before picking one up to inspect it. It seemed dry and ready to hang. He had spent yesterday wrapping red and white ribbon around two wreath forms then glueing on some fake poinsettia blooms and springs of evergreen, and a large red bow each to make some pretty wreaths for the front door, enjoying the crafting. Crowley had sat at the table watching, occasionally handing him needed items and drinking his way through several glasses of wine. Yes, that was Crowley’s day — some sex in the morning and a few bottles of wine in the afternoon before they ventured out to dinner and ended up back at Crowley’s flat to watch films while snogging before heading to bed for more of what Crowley called “sexy times”. Aziraphale was mildly irritated at him for not even trying to get into the holiday spirit.

“How do they look?” he asked, holding them out in an attempt to engage the demon planted firmly on the couch.

“Good.”

“You didn’t even look at them.”

“I did earlier. They look fantastic. You did a great job on them angel.” Crowley gave a winning smile.

Aziraphale stomped off to the door in a huff. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I did look at them and I’m surprised you didn’t go with tartan bows instead of red ones. It would have been very striking to have Christmas tartan bows.”

“Really?” Aziraphale paused, setting one wreath down so he could examine the other critically. “Crowley, could you be a dear and come hold this wreath for me, please?”

Crowley unfolded himself from the couch and took the wreath from the angel. He stepped back while Aziraphale eyed it, brow furrowed and one hand on his chin. A wave of his hand turned the bow into a soft beige and red tartan. He gave it another hard look then nodded. 

“You’re right,” he announced. “It does look better with tartan. Thank you so much.”

That earned Crowley an adoring kiss on the cheek. He smiled to himself at being able to still pull one over on Aziraphale. He had not given the wreaths any more than a cursory glance as he passed by the table earlier but was still able to placate his angel. Christmas wasn’t his thing, nor was it ever going to be. Now, he just had to fake his way through the rest of December and he’d be in a holiday-free time until next December rolled around. Unless Aziraphale discovered Valentine’s Day this year, which would annoy him to no end. Crowley shoved that appalling thought to the back of his mind. Christmas first, then start worrying about other holidays.

He flopped back onto his favourite seat in the bookshop and looked up at the shelf near the till that normally contained Aziraphale’s Regency snuffbox collection, which no longer did. Now it contained a collection of antique snow globes, delicate orbs of glass on top of wooden bases with some kind of scene contained within the water-filled globes along with whatever they used back in those days for snow. Crowley squinted at them, not knowing Aziraphale collected snow globes. 

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“What’s with all the snow globes? I had no idea.”

“Usually I keep them upstairs, but I decided to get them out this year.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale slammed the door shut, causing a vibration to shudder through the snow globe’s shelf, starting at the top and heading down, one shelf coming loose, unknown to Crowley, who remained unaware of the problem until he found himself covered in glass shards and water as shelves smashed down on each other than onto him directly. He rose from the couch with a yelp, crunching the glass that landed on the ground and knocking a few wooden bases — some with their scenes still attached to them — off his lap. The noise brought Aziraphale around the corner.

“Crowley!”

“It’s not my fault! I was just sitting here and the shelves fell on me!”

He waves a hand, restoring everything back to the way it was, glad to get the shattered glass and wetness of stale water trapped in globes for nearly two hundred years off his clothing. Aziraphale was standing before him staring at the mess before Crowley miracled the snow globes back in one piece. He opened and shut his mouth in anger, his sky blue eyes snapping flames at the demon. Crowley glared back at him over his sunglasses, not willing to take the blame for this one. He didn’t slam the door. It wasn’t his doing at all, as if he’d even make mischief that would hurt Aziraphale.

“Those were antiques!”

“They’re back in one piece.”

“It’s not the same!”

“Then you shouldn’t have slammed the door!”

Aziraphale’s mouth set itself in a tight straight line. “There is no way my shutting the door contributed to that disaster.”

“And if I was messing with them rather than sitting under them minding my own business, I wouldn’t have been covered in gross-smelling water and glass.” Crowley stalked past Aziraphale, seething. “Forget it. Just forget it. I don’t need this kind of attitude from you and I don’t need this blasted holiday.” He opened the front door. “Oh, and angel? Better shore up those shelves before they fall again.”

He was gone, closing the door gently despite his anger to keep disaster from happening again. Aziraphale let him go, instead, concentrating on miracling his snow globes back upstairs where they were safer. Afterwards, he sat at the till reading, occasionally looking longingly at the door and hoping that the next customer who walked in wasn’t a customer at all, but a lanky redhead dressed in black. No such luck. Crowley stayed away from the bookshop. Aziraphale wanted to call him badly, going as far as picking up the telephone before setting the old receiver back in its cradle again.

_Oh, Crowley. I was stupid._

He should wait, let Crowley make the first move after he cooled off. It was better than being yelled at.

Elsewhere, Crowley was staring at his own mobile as he sat nursing a third glass of scotch in a pub in Central London. He wanted to call, but it was best to let Aziraphale calm down and contact him. Setting it down again beside his glass, he picked that up to down what was left in it. The scrape of the chair across from him reached his ear as a woman who was trying to squeeze between tables with a couple of pints of beer tried to get past his table. She was sitting several away with a group of people who were talking and laughing as they drank. Crowley envied them right now.

“Sorry!” she said to him as she moved on back to her friends.

“S’ok.” He raised his glass to her for a moment before going back to get quietly drunk.

The table of cheerful friends was leaving while he worked through a sixth glass of scotch, the woman stopping again at his table again with a concerned look on her face. He tried his best to smile up at her as she waved at a friend before turning back to him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Fight with the boyfriend, no big deal. Happens once in a while.”

“New relationship?”

“Naaah. I swear we’ve been together since the beginning of time.”

“Old souls, then. I hope everything works out for you two. Lasting relationships are hard to find these days. Happy Christmas!”

“We’ll get through it. Happy Christmas.”

_Old souls_ , he thought amusedly. _If she only knew._

Several more glasses of hard liquor later, he stumbled out to the Bentley, allowing it to drive him home even though he contemplated heading over to the bookshop but decided against it. He practically fell into the lift, mashing several buttons in his quest to get to his own floor and about tripped over his own feet getting out. He nodded at the passing neighbours as if he meant to do that, continuing to his front door, which he wished open instead of trying to bother with keys while in such a clumsy state. The couch was a few steps from the door, inviting and Crowley collapsed on it, not moving until morning. 

At the bookshop, Aziraphale slept alone, missing the warmth and comfort of his demon sleeping next to him. He resolved to head out tomorrow to buy the best bottle of scotch or two he could find as a peace offering so he could apologise to Crowley for acting like a complete arse. Snow globes were not nearly as important as his love for the one being who had been there almost since the beginning. Hoping he could placate Crowley and soothe his anger tomorrow, he rolled over to try to sleep.


	5. Sweet Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale realise they've been acting foolishly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shopping

Aziraphale was up early the next morning, going through the human rituals he enjoyed, such as having a cup of morning tea and taking a shower using fragrant soaps, before planning out his course of action for the day. He printed out a sign in his neat handwriting to put on the door telling customers something had come up so the bookshop would be closed today. Placing it in the window of the door next to his daily hours, he waited around for about an hour in case Crowley decided to show up then headed out on his errand. There were a couple of very nice liquor stores in Covent Garden that Crowley frequented when he got it in his head to actually purchase a nice single malt whisky or two instead of merely wishing the bottles into existence. He knew what the demon liked so it wouldn’t be an issue getting it. Bundled up in his warmest coat and light blue hat, he walked quickly to the nearest bus stop, planning it perfectly so he only had to wait a few minutes in the brisk air before a bus going where he wanted to showed up. Sitting down with some light reading, he settled in for the ride, wishing the bus was just a little warmer. 

~*~*~

Over in Mayfair, Crowley lay on his couch, not bothering to rid himself of his hangover in some kind of crude attempt at penance for walking out the door instead of speaking to Aziraphale about the whole damn snow globe mess. He stared at the grey wall in front of him idly pondering if he should move the Mona Lisa sketch into the living room now that he had no reason to hide the safe in his office. Hell wasn’t going to mess with him again as long as he lived here. By the time they got over their fear of him, this building will have crumbled into dust.

He yanked his groggy mind back to the problem at hand — what to do about Aziraphale. Should he go over there? Apologise? That shouldn’t be his place. All he did was leave before he made the mess worse so what did he have to be sorry for? Aziraphale should apologise to him if you looked at it correctly. Still, he should probably get up, go get him a small present to placate him and head over sometime today if the angel didn’t make the first move. High maintenance bastard. Never date a Principality.

Now he got rid of the headache since he had things to do, places to go, gifts to buy. Conjuring up a travel mug of perfect coffee, he slipped out to the Bentley, which would be waiting for him with one cup holder for said coffee. Thinking of an antique shop across town Aziraphale adored, Crowley took off, hoping to find the perfect silver Regency snuffbox or some other antique trinket he’d enjoy.

~*~*~

Aziraphale held the expensive bottle of whisky in his hands thinking over his purchase while the sales clerk hovered over him, listing off what made this particular batch of liquor worth the price. He smiled at the angel, hoping to get the sale.

“I promise you won’t find a smoother whisky anywhere. Is this a Christmas present?”

Aziraphale didn’t feel like saying it was more of an apology. “Yes. My partner enjoys a fine single malt whisky every now and again. I figured a new brand to try might make a good gift.”

“Is he an adventurous connoisseur? Some like to stick to their brands.”

Deciding saying that Crowley wouldn’t object to drinking homemade brew strong enough to kill a human if he’d get a nice buzz off of it wasn’t very polite, Aziraphale instead agreed that yes, his partner was an adventurous connoisseur. “He does enjoy sampling new liquors. I do believe he’ll love it. Please, wrap it up for me.

He followed the clerk to the till.

~*~*~

Crowley perused the glass cases full of fine antiques eyeing the objects as if they were a walk down memory lane, which they more or less were for him. All items that were wonderful in their time, either improved upon or replaced by something better. Clever humans with their technology. If he had to pick his favourite era, it would be the present. It would always be the present whether it was now, a decade from now or a century in the future. Moving forward meant new technology that made his life a lot easier.

“Can I help you with something?” came a voice on his left. 

Crowley turned towards the clerk there, giving a small smile. “Just Christmas gift shopping. For someone who collects Regency snuffboxes.” He paused to debate a moment, then added, “and snow globes.”

“Snow globes?” The clerk brightened. “We just got one in from 1903, in beautiful shape. Would you like to see it?”

“Sure.”

“Right this way.”

He was led to a display case closer to the till where a beautiful snow globe with a delicate winter scene inside sat, the water still clear and the wooden base only containing a few minor scratches. The clerk carefully held it out so he could examine it. It was exactly the kind of thing Aziraphale would very much enjoy, giving what Crowley had seen of his collection. He looked it over carefully, inspecting for any imperfections that might cause it to lose water over time, with the help of a small demonic miracle. It looked in order. He nodded at the human holding it rather nervously now.

“Very nice.”

The clerk set it back down.

“It’s rare we get in one that old in that great of shape. If your friend’s a serious collector, they will appreciate this one.”

Crowley nodded. He was obviously stalling, but even he had no idea why. Aziraphale would love it and it wasn’t like he didn’t have the funds to afford it. One of the perks of being a demon was a bank account that had all the money you wanted, if only because you believed that was the way it should be. 

“It is very nice. I think he’ll really like it. I’ll take it.”

The clerk smiled. Crowley soon found himself handing over his credit card and receiving a carefully wrapped box in return. Taking it, he headed out to the Bentley to place it gently on the passenger seat where he glared at it menacingly.

“You will not leak on the seat. Nothing has stained that leather and nothing will.”

Hopefully, snow globes listened as well as plants to threats. 

~*~*~

Aziraphale had pondered picking up some flowers. He would never buy Crowley a live plant since he was well aware of how the demon treated them when he thought Aziraphale was not paying attention, but cut flowers were a different story and he often showed up at the flat with a colourful bouquet to counter the monochromatic scheme Crowley had chosen for his abode. There was a flower shop within walking distance that he decided he would stop in to peruse for suitable flowers. Crowley was rather picky, so he knew better than to get something as cliché as roses. Stepping inside, he was glad of the warmth.

The poinsettias were tempting, he thought as he looked at them. No, he wasn’t going to subject a live plant to the demon. Crowley had enough of those to terrorise. Looking around the small shop, he finally decided on one of white lilies arranged with evergreen foliage and some branches with red berries on them. They might have been holly, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. The white, red and green looked lovely together, plus Crowley would appreciate it. 

Paying for it, he walked to the nearest corner to catch a cab, not wanting to take a delicate flower arrangement on the bus along with a bag containing breakable bottles of whisky.

~*~*~

Crowley decided to hit a café for a cup of coffee to warm up before heading to the bookshop and had just turned a corner when he caught a flash of light beige shades that brought the Bentley to a screeching halt, thankfully with no traffic close behind him. 

“Angel!”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale looked up, attempting to shuffle his purchases behind his back. “What brings you around here?”

“Get in. We can talk then without holding up traffic.”

Crowley shunted the boxed snow globe to the back seat where Aziraphale carefully placed his purchases as well, mindful to put the bouquet in its vase on the floor along with a miracle to keep it from tipping over. Upsetting Crowley further was not on his list of things to do today. He wanted to try to make amends, not fan the flames. 

“I was just heading to a coffee shop to get something warm to drink. Been out shopping,” said Crowley when they were on their way. “Want to grab something?”

“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.” Aziraphale was quiet for a beat or two. “I am so sorry for getting angry, my dear. I was out getting a gift for you and some apology flowers because I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry for walking out, angel. I should have stayed so we could talk.”

A little while later they were seated at a table with their orders discussing the happenings of yesterday. Aziraphale had got a rich hot cocoa while Crowley opted for espresso. He hid a smile to see the angel get a bit of whipped cream on his nose, motioning for him to wipe it off. Aziraphale blushed as he did so.

“We really need to work on the communication skills,” Crowley said while looking at the dark surface of his small cup of strong coffee.

“I know,” sighed Aziraphale. “Six thousand years and we still stumble over that, don’t we? How about next time we have an argument, we take a bit of time to calm down then have a real discussion together instead of storming off and wondering who’s going to make the first move.”

“I think that’s a great idea. A cooling-off period of an hour or two, then we call each other?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Aziraphale. “So, are these apology gifts we bought each other, or ones for Christmas?”

Crowley laughed. “You can try hanging on to those flowers until the twenty-fifth, but I don’t think they’ll look as nice without a little intervention.”

He miracled the box with the snow globe in it into his lap, bringing it out to place on the table. “Here. You can go ahead and have it.”

Aziraphale opened it, gasping in surprise when he saw the nearly-perfect antique water globe inside. He carefully took it out to examine it before carefully packing it back up against breakage, setting it on one of the empty chairs that was out of the way of foot traffic. Beaming at Crowley, he reached across the table to give him a long kiss of thanks. 

“It’s very beautiful, my dear. Thank you!”

“You needed one that hadn’t been broken yet.”

“Shall we finish up and head back to your place? That bouquet is just going to wilt if we don’t get some more water in the vase. Also, I believe it would look very lovely on your living room side table.”

It was an excuse. The flowers would have been fine for the short amount of time they sat in the Bentley. Crowley suspected Aziraphale was looking for more intimate touching than they could do in public. He downed the remainder of his espresso while waiting for Aziraphale to take that last sip of cocoa. Then they were off, heading back to Mayfair, to Crowley’s luxurious flat, to the large bed that awaited them there. Soon the flowers were deposited on the side table in the living room and the two beings had made their way to the bedroom. 

Aziraphale’s waistcoat was already slung across the chair in the corner while Crowley’s shirt was hiked up as Aziraphale kissed his way down to his belly button then back up so Crowley could remove that starched white shirt of the angel’s. Trousers and pants littered the floor not too long after that, Crowley holding the love of his life close, enjoying the fragrant aroma of his shampoo as he burrowed in his blond curls. Aziraphale sighed contentedly.

“I know we only spent a night apart, but I missed you, my dear.”

“I missed you, too.”

He pushed Aziraphale on the bed and climbed in after him, situating himself between his legs. Looking up, he smiled at him before turning his attention to his erect cock, sliding a hand up and down it in anticipation. Aziraphale made himself comfortable and reached out to touch along Crowley’s tattoo, tracing fingers over it before trailing them down his jawline then back up into his hair after the demon ducked his head to concentrated on Aziraphale’s member with seductive licks followed by hand motions. He rose off it one last time before fully concentrating on Aziraphale’s pleasure.

“I don’t know about you, but I do love make-up sex. Think we can start having it without resorting to an argument first?”

Aziraphale nodded his approval before succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh. 


	6. Do Not Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having never seen them before, Crowley is curious about the Christmas crackers Aziraphale has bought to open at Christmas dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Christmas crackers
> 
> Okay, I'm going to admit it. I'm sick, it's hard to concentrate and this isn't my best work, but I just pushed through my pounding headache to get it out there. I also skipped the prompt "Naughty v. Nice" for now because I want to do something nice and sexy for that while not on cold medicine. Nobody wants to read smut I wrote while on copious amounts of DayQuil.
> 
> Another round of SOSH's [Guess the Author](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sosh_gta_9) is going on. Go read them and try to guess mine!

Crowley awoke the next day around noon, rolling over to place his hand on a note left on Aziraphale’s pillow rather than the angel’s soft curls. Yawning broadly, he read it, his groggy mind only digesting the barest of information contained in that note. Rolling back over with a grumble, he fell back asleep, waking two hours later when the front door opened. Sliding out of bed, he went to see what Aziraphale had been up to.

“Where have you been?” he muttered, drawing a hand through messy red hair. 

“Getting some supplies for Christmas dinner,” replied Aziraphale, who was carrying several reusable bags filled with whatever it was he had picked up while out and about London. “Are we having Christmas here or at the bookshop?” 

He was in the process of getting the door shut and putting down his bags, therefore, had not gazed Crowley’s direction yet. Crowley had walked over to inspect the bags, pulling out a box containing strange tubes wrapped in festive paper with bows crimping off the ends of the paper to keep it in place. He turned the box, examining it on all sides.

“Crackers? Why are they called ‘crackers’?”

“The noise they make when you open them. Don’t you know anything about Christmas?” Aziraphale turned to take the box from him with a disapproving frown. “For goodness’ sake, Crowley, go put some clothes on. Or at least a dressing robe.”

Crowley had tumbled out of bed without so much as stopping to cover himself. He grinned at Aziraphale. “What? You don’t like the view?”

“Time and a place, my dear. Now is not the time.”

Crowley conjured himself up some black satin pyjama bottoms and a dressing robe, continuing to look over the crackers. “Alcohol? How do you fit a bottle of alcohol in these? They’re small.”

“Individual-sized bottles.” Aziraphale gently took the box from him. “Although I imagine you’ll be making them full-sized once we’ve opened them. Now, are we doing Christmas here or my bookshop?”

“Don’t care. Not decorating this place, you know.”

“It would look nice with a tree and some fairy lights.”

“No.”

“Why not? You could threaten the tree to stay green and beautiful.”

“The answer’s still no. Besides, it’s like cut flowers . . . going to die anyway.” The box of Christmas crackers continued to fascinate Crowley and he took them back to read the contents on the side of the package. “Can we open these today?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale grabbed them away. “Because traditionally they’re opened with Christmas dinner!”

“I don’t see why we need to stand on tradition.”

“Crowley!”

“Just a couple? You have six there.”

“No!”

“What if I get my own?”

Aziraphale walked away without answering, heading into the kitchen to put groceries in the fridge, moving aside items that had probably been sitting unspoilt on the shelves since the late nineties. “I’m putting the food in here for now. I’ll move it over to the bookshop when we head over there if we’re having dinner there.”

“What did you buy? Please tell me you’re not going to actually _make_ Christmas dinner. Like with your own hands, I mean.”

“Why not? I’ve been learning to cook and besides, I can miracle it right. Indulge me for once.”

Crowley bit his tongue before he stated that he constantly indulged the angel. Instead, he miracled into his hands his own set of alcoholic Christmas crackers, looking eagerly at the box. Ripping it open he took one out, turning the tube over in his hand and wondering if one just undid a bow at one end or the other to get it open. Shrugging, he pulled the bow off and unwrapped the entire thing, pulling out a tiny bottle of gin and a tin of tonic water.

“Gin? Gin tastes like pine trees.”

Aziraphale had returned from the kitchen, evaluated the situation and was standing with his hands on his hips looking cross. “Crowley! What did I tell you?”

“These aren’t the ones you bought, angel. But I apparently conjured to myself a set containing gin. Who drinks that stuff, anyway?”

“I assume people in pubs since it and tonic water both are common ingredients there. You do possess the ability to make it more palatable.”

The small bottle became a nice rare wine. Crowley took a drink and offered it to Aziraphale.

“Want some?”

“No.”

“Quit pouting.”

“Crackers are for Christmas dinner.”

Crowley sighed. “I didn’t open yours.”

“That’s not the point. I want this holiday to be perfect.”

The demon smiled, taking him into his arms and holding him for a few minutes before responding. “It will be. You’ll be there. That’s all I need. I don’t need trees or presents or dinner or even little bottles of wine to make Christmas Day perfect. I wish you’d understand that.”

“But you don’t even need to celebrate it.”

“No, I don’t. It’s for humans.”

“So, you’re just sort of allowing me to do this because?”

“It makes you happy.”

“Oh.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Aziraphale lifted his head off Crowley’s shoulder. “I wanted to share the joy of it all with you.”

“I get a lot of joy out of watching you do your little activities.”

“Really?”

“No, Aziraphale, I’m just saying that.” Crowley rolled his serpentine eyes. “Quit doubting it, angel. I’ve indulged you for years. Now it’s time to indulge me and open up all these little bottles of alcohol. We can have a little pre-Christmas party, can’t we?”

He led Aziraphale to the couch where they sat next to each other, the box of unopened crackers between them. Aziraphale took one and held it out to Crowley, showing him out they each were supposed to hold an end and pull. Yanking it apart with a bang, Aziraphale ended up with the cracker while Crowley was left holding a bit of paper. Leaning over, the demon peered into the tube as the angel pulled out the bottle. Observing the alcohol inside was again gin and there was another tin of tonic water with it, they paused their cracker opening to miracle up something they both found more palatable. Crowley dug further in the cracker, pulling out a crown-shaped paper hat and a piece of paper with writing on it.

“What are these?”

“Oh, there are always hats and bad jokes in Christmas crackers.”

Crowley shoved the hat on Aziraphale’s head. “There ya go. I remember Principalities wearing crowns and carrying sceptres for some kind of heavenly ceremony or other. You look great.”

Aziraphale laughed at him. “Oh, how I hated those crowns. I’m glad I never have to attend another silly function in Heaven again.” He looked at the joke, reading it out loud to Crowley. “What’s green, covered in tinsel and goes ‘ribbet ribbet’?”

Crowley smirked as he opened the small bottle of wine. “Well, the answer’s not Hastur.”

“No, it’s mistle-toad.”

“Oh, that’s bad. I’m going to have to drink enough to forget that.”

The bottle increased in size, Crowley setting it down so he could wish up a couple of wine glasses. Pouring two glasses, he handed one to Aziraphale, raising his in a toast. 

“To us drinking our way through these crackers.”

That is exactly what they did, imbibing of wines, whisky, brandies and mead, to be adventurous. Hours passed and they were down to the last cracker, which was a good thing considering both were almost too drunk to coordinate opening it. Crowley laughed when it popped, leaving him with the prize this time. Fumbling out the bottle, hat and joke, he jammed the hat on his head with the other two before handing the joke to Aziraphale to read while he looked over the bottle of prosecco, wishing it was champagne instead. 

Aziraphale’s first hat had fallen over his eyes. He pushed it out of the way before reading the joke.

“What says ‘Oh Oh Oh’?”

“No idea.”

“Santa walking backwards.”

They looked at each other in confusion before Crowley shrugged.

“I don’ get it,” he slurred.

“Me, either.” Aziraphale fell over against Crowley’s side, crinkling his three hats. Crowley poured himself another scotch, using his wine glass since his tumbler seemed to have gone missing. In reality, it was under the crinkled remains of cracker paper and cardboard tubes, but his ability to search for things had disappeared with his sobriety. He raised the wine glass and giggled.

“Whisky in a wine glass. I sure do have class, don’ I?”

“Scotch.”

“Sssscocth,” hissed Crowley. “Scocth? No, scotch. Sssssotch. Good stuff.”

“Yes. Very good stuff.”

Aziraphale had slumped lower. Crowley was sure he was near the point of passing out. He lay him down on the couch, a pillow under his head and lay down behind him, wrapping his arms around his angel. It felt cosy. And nice. Definitely nice. Why didn’t they do this more often? Oh, that’s right. These days they did. Crowley giggled again. Aziraphale turned to look at him.

“What’s got into you?”

“Lots o’ alcohol.”

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“I wanna be like a Christmas tree.”

“Why’s that?”

“I wanna be topped by an angel.”

“That’s a bad joke, my dear.” Aziraphale was silent for a beat. “Maybe later? When we sober up?”

“’Kay, sounds good.”

Surrounded by the remains of their very eager sampling, Aziraphale and Crowley dozed off, Aziraphale awakening once to miracle a blanket over both of them before falling back asleep to the sounds of Crowley softly snoring behind him on the black leather couch. It would be hours before they stirred again to cuddle, kiss and be intimate. When they did awaken, neither one of them would gaze towards the window in front of them to notice a few flakes of snow gently falling past the balcony.


	7. Reaping His Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nice demons get naughty surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Naughty v. nice

Aziraphale stirred on the couch, groaning as he raised his head off of Crowley’s shoulder. It was dark out and he was no longer sure what day it was any more. Looking at the clock on Crowley’s antique VCR player, he could see it was a quarter past four in the morning. From what he remembered they started drinking around two o’clock in the afternoon and drank solidly for the next seven or eight hours. He laid his pounding head and aching neck back down against the pillows, pulling the blanket up again. How did he get turned around? They were spooning earlier.

“Remind me to sober up before falling asleep the next time we decide to get incredibly drunk, my dear?”

“Uhhhhhh, sure,” groaned Crowley, who was suffering from his own headache. “You can miracle it away, you know.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. I keep forgetting nobody is keeping tabs on me any more.”

“No longer the nice angel any more, are you?” It was merely Crowley’s attempt to get a rise out of him. “You can get up to all kinds of naughty things now. Like me.”

“And you’re a lot nicer than you care to admit.” Aziraphale was reaching out, his lips touching delicately to Crowley’s to steal a smooch or two before he pressed down hard, his tongue licking its way into the demon’s mouth. “I just might have to reward you for that.”

“No, ‘m not nice,” mumbled Crowley around Aziraphale’s busy tongue as he melted under the attention he was being showered with. 

“I think you are very nice and you should be rewarded for being such a nice person. Not everyone has a spark of goodness deep down inside them.” Aziraphale’s hand slid into Crowley’s pyjama bottoms. “What do you say? Do you want a little reward or are you too naughty?”

“I must not be too naughty.” Crowley stretched out, giving Aziraphale a nice view as well as more room to play.

“And why is that?”

“I’m sleeping here on my couch with an angel. _Oh_!” 

Crowley’s back arched as he groaned and Aziraphale felt his cock come to life under his hand. He smiled, reaching over to start the kissing all over again, the feel of his lips upon Crowley’s causing his own physical reaction to occur. The electric feeling from that touch now tingled between his legs, making him ache for more. He noticed Crowley had shifted to bring a leg in gentle contact with the inside of Aziraphale’s thighs. Thrusting lightly, Aziraphale slid up and down Crowley’s leg, his own tweed trousers he didn’t bother to change out of gliding effortlessly against the satin material of Crowley’s pyjamas. His tongue ran along the pointed fangs the demon possessed, exploring the peaks and valleys of both in turn before jabbing between the forked split of the tip of his tongue. What lay in Crowley’s mouth had been a surprise at first, but now he wouldn’t have the demon any other way.

Aziraphale found it hard to coordinate the movement of his hips and arm, the frottage and hand job getting clumsy in their rhythms, but neither really noticed. It was touch with the one they loved the best, which made up for the imperfections that happened along the way. Aziraphale was grinding against Crowley’s knee and Crowley was thrust upwards into Aziraphale’s hand. Somehow it all managed to work despite a bit of awkwardness and uncomfortable positioning. Crowley couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed Aziraphale, cupping his head in his hands.

“Shall we go somewhere more comfortable? I do have that rather large bed we can spread out on.”

“I had forgotten that momentarily.” 

Aziraphale yanked Crowley to his feet and marched him down the hall to the bedroom where Crowley found himself lifted on to the bed and placed on the pillows with Aziraphale straddling him, ready to pick up where they left off, rubbing his hardness against Crowley while Crowley rubbed in return, both of them somehow ending up naked without thinking about it —Aziraphale’s cock between Crowley’s thighs while Crowley’s rubbed on Aziraphale’s lower abdomen in mutual erotic feelings. Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, hovering over him close enough to steal a quick kiss before his balance was thrown off enough to force him to sit up further if he wished to continue with his thrusting. Crowley had his hands around Aziraphale’s upper arms, hanging on while the sensitive underside of his cock rubbed away against Aziraphale’s belly, made slick by their own beliefs that everything would be perfect for whichever sexual acts they chose to engage in. 

“Close your thighs just a little more, my dear,” whispered Aziraphale between moans. “Please?”

Crowley obliged, lightly squeezing the angel’s cock between his legs, feeling it bump against his balls while Aziraphale’s stomach rubbing delightfully along the excited length of his member. Sometimes Aziraphale would bear down, adding pressure that made Crowley groan louder and his legs relax until he remembered to squeeze them back together again, making Aziraphale’s humming pick up in volume. 

“Do you want me inside you?” the angel whispered.

“Whatever you want, angel. I’m doing good or I could go for a change of pace.”

“All right.” Aziraphale stopped. “Turn over.”

Crowley flipped in his stomach, wondering why the change in position. It wasn’t often they did anything from behind because both enjoyed looking into the other’s eyes while they being physically intimate. That eye contact was important. Wanting to know what was up, he waited for Aziraphale to resume, finally feeling soft kisses placed on his buttocks, starting high then heading over the curve of his cheek down to the border between bum and upper thigh. With tender nibbles and licks, Aziraphale headed lower, lingering on Crowley’s sensitive back-of-the-thigh area until the demon could barely stand the tingling feelings washing over him before kissing around the bend of his knee, concentrating on the centre of the kneecap’s back. 

“Oh, _angel_!”

“You like that?” Aziraphale murmured.

“Yesssss.”

Aziraphale touched fingertips there, digging nails in enough to get a reaction before returning to his kissing of one kneecap before moving on to worship the other with the same smooches, nibbles and light scratches. Crowley wiggled beneath him, prompting him to put his full weight on the demon’s legs before he ended up receiving an unwanted kick from those flexible limbs. He could feel Crowley twitching under him, trying to move, to break loose as he cried out in loud moans. 

“You’re going to discorporate me!”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. I will not do anything that would bring you harm, my love.”

“Please, don’t play around any more. Take me,” Crowley begged, practically up on his elbows, his back arched in a manner that probably wasn’t even possible in a human being. 

“Lie back down so I can have a good angle here.”

With a little smooth thrusting, he was in, buried deep inside Crowley with a moan. Aziraphale paused for a minute, making sure everything was fine and Crowley wasn’t too overstimulated, which would bring a pause to their activities until he returned to normal levels where they could pick their sexual play back up again. None of the usual signals was coming from the demon, so he continued, enjoying the view of Crowley’s backside almost as much as the physical aspect of this moment.

“You look so lovely, my dear. I love staring at the curve of your bottom and being able to see your head turned to one side with that look on it you get during intercourse.”

Crowley gripped the pillow tightly, panting as he thrust his hips upward to beg for more.

“You always have your eyes closed at this point. I’m pleased I can make you feel this good. It’s a wonderful feeling, you know. Oh, and I’m just babbling on here. I apologize.”

He put his hands on Crowley’s upturned hips, gripping them tight to gain more leverage and he pumped harder, leaving Crowley incoherent at best. At worst, he was a noisy sweaty mess that only retained the barest essentials of his sentience while the rest wrapped itself up in passionate feelings and refused to respond for a while. Aziraphale grinned at the contorted face and clawing hands he gazed down upon. He could bring Crowley to such a state. He could lead him up to the cliff, then push him over and watch as he floated gently down before jumping off of it himself to float on a cloud of well-being down with him. 

“That’s it, Crowley. I’m right there. Are you? It appears so. Let’s jump off together, shall we?”

“Angel!” cried out the demon. It was about the only word he could articulate right now. “Oh! Angel!”

Aziraphale called out wordlessly and it felt like they spent hours floating down off that cliff to the ground below. He clung to Crowley, laying on his back with his arms around his torso, Crowley’s fingers clenching and unclenching in the pillow as he came back to himself again. Aziraphale didn’t let him lie there long before he sat up and encouraged Crowley to roll over out of the mess he had made. A quick miracle took care of that so the angel could join him, cuddling up close as the big spoon. He could all but hear the rumble of a purr coming from Crowley, a sign of deep contentment and a source of delight for Aziraphale. He had discovered he enjoyed making the demon happy as much as he enjoyed being pampered by him.

“How’s that for a reward?”

“Like.”

“I thought you would.”

“Love you.”

Aziraphale planted a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “I love you, too. We have a few hours. Get some sleep, my dear. More adventures await us when we awaken later.”

“Please tell me we’re not going to go to one of those weird pantomime plays. I don’t understand them.”

“No, Crowley, not that. Don’t worry about it. You sleep and dream of whatever you like best.”

“I’ll dream of . . .” mumbled Crowley, his murmurings no longer audible. “Yeah . . . that’s a good dream.” 

Aziraphale smiled softly and lay his head down, cuddled close against Crowley’s back, the soft light of the setting moon scattering across the room. Schedule completely thrown off now, they didn’t rise from bed until early afternoon.


	8. Ring, Christmas Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it doesn't pay to take your demon boyfriend out in public. Especially to a Christmas concert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bell ringing

“Wear a suit,” called Aziraphale.

“Fine,” Crowley called back.

He stood before the mirror in the bedroom tying his bowtie and wearing a fairly new light wool vest of a lighter shade and in better shape than his favoured everyday one. His button-up shirt was a snow-white instead of the usual light celestial blue as well because Aziraphale felt a white shirt was more formal. Satisfied he looked presentable for this evening’s concert, he went to the doorway of Crowley’s walk-in wardrobe — which existed only because Crowley had seen they were an up-and-coming accessory to one’s living space.

Crowley was buttoning up a red shirt that Aziraphale frowned upon as he sat down on the black upholstered bench between two sets of dark wood units holding drawers and rods for hanging clothing, glaring at his partner. 

“Can’t you just wear a white one for once?”

“Red’s festive for this time of year. And if you’re going to nitpick, the only time it’s fashionable to wear a beige suit is in the summer. Hand me that, will you?”

He pointed to the black tie on the dresser in the middle of the wardrobe. Aziraphale leaned forward to grab it, passing it to Crowley without commenting in return on the unfashionable colour of his own attire.

“Thanks.”

“I’ve seen you in white and you do look dashing.”

“It’s not my style, angel.” 

Crowley swiftly did his tie in a half-Windsor knot, pulling the knot up flush with his collar and using the wardrobe’s mirror to make sure it was straight. Aziraphale was soon in front of him making his own adjustments to it before giving him a kiss on the lips.

“I suppose I should be happy you agreed to this.”

“I’d say so. Time to go yet?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale took the arm Crowley held out to him and they headed down to the Bentley. 

~*~*~

The auditorium wasn’t too crowded when they arrived to take their seats, finding that the next five or so next to Crowley remained empty and Aziraphale had a nice space of two between him and the next concert-goer. The angel was pleased by this turn of events if only because there was a good chance Crowley, who excelled at not being able to sit still for more than ten minutes, was going to become bored and fidgety. The fewer people around for him to bother, the better for all involved. But one never knew Crowley’s reactions until one tried new things with him, Aziraphale had discovered long ago, thus he decided the possible risk was worth it. He did enjoy classical music; maybe he would enjoy this as well.

The house lights dimmed and the curtain opened to reveal tables full of gleaming handbells in front of impeccably dressed people wearing white cotton gloves. Each musician had their own group of bells arranged in front of them. Aziraphale clapped excitedly as the conductor entered from the side. Beside him, Crowley stared with an open mouth. Bells?

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, and hush. Just listen before you decide to pass judgement.”

“If they play ‘Jingle Bells’, I’m leaving.”

Much to Crowley’s disappointment, they didn’t and he was stuck listening to the first strains of “Ding Dong! Merrily on High” while Aziraphale sat enthralled by the melodies. Angels . . . they probably had concerts like this all the time in Heaven. All they needed was a harp to accompany the clear chiming of the bells. It took all of five minutes before Crowley began to fidget, bouncing his leg impatiently while tapping his fingers on his armrest. He knew Aziraphale would ignore him for now as this was minor enough the angel could block it out while listening to the song. 

He pulled out his mobile, an act that had Aziraphale glaring at him. 

“Don’t be rude.”

Sneering at him, Crowley pocketed it again. He itched to make a few of the clappers disappear. The confused looks on the musicians’ faces, followed by the scramble to find new bells or whatever would happen would provide a few moments of amusement. As it was, it gave him a warm fuzzy feeling just to think about until complete silence interrupted his pondering. Song over, those on stage rearranged their bells and music, the conductor waiting quietly to tap her baton on her music stand then raise her arms to begin the next song. 

Crowley smiled briefly at Aziraphale, who was clearly enjoying this despite how dull it was. The only reason Crowley knew he wasn’t going to die of boredom was that he was immortal. He slid down in his seat as “Carol of the Bells” began. 

“It’s a half-hour performance. You can’t hold still for that long?” whispered Aziraphale.

“No. Can I make a table leg collapse?”

“Don’t you dare!”

“It would be funny watching those bells roll all over the stage.”

“Stop it.”

“Mix up their music?”

“No! Just be quiet and listen.”

Three songs down and Crowley was about to pull his own hair out. This was worse than that beatnik poetry reading he attended in New York City back in the ‘50s and at least he was able to walk out of that without anyone finding him rude. Right now he felt like he was trapped inside a literal music box. Why was Aziraphale torturing him like this? Crowley twisted in his seat, swinging a leg over the side on to the neighbouring one since the one in front of him was occupied. Leaning back the best he could in such an awkward arrangement, he tried to doze off.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed softly.

“What?”

“Can’t I enjoy something for once without you acting up?”

“This is not my thing, angel. Sorry, I’m bored out of my skull. Just let me sleep and you enjoy the rest of the concert?”

Aziraphale gave up and let him. He turned forward to listen to the next song performed and ignored the sleeping demon in the seat beside him. The Christmas tunes played in only bells were delightful in his opinion, but really, why did he expect Crowley to behave? He was a demon, and Heaven knows even though he was separated from Hell, he still had to cause mischief. Sighing Aziraphale decided to throw a miracle over him to make the surrounding humans not notice his improper use of the seating. Aziraphale was embarrassed enough the way it was. 

It was a lovely concert once Crowley was quiet and still. Poking the demon awake during the last song, Aziraphale got him sitting up before the performers took their bow and the house lights came up. Patrons filed out, a murmur of speech following them while Crowley sat in his chair, slowly returning to the land of the awake. He blinked heavily at Aziraphale before stretching.

“How was it.”

“Much better after you stopped being a pest.” He turned puppy dog eyes on the demon. “What can I do? How can I help you like the holidays?”

“No bell concerts for one.”

“I’m serious, Crowley.”

“So am I. Got a plan for tomorrow?”

“Not yet. I’ve about given up.”

Crowley stood up to stretch more, yawning. “How about we make some Christmas biscuits tomorrow? Right now I’m starved. What time is it? Is some place we can get some food still open?”

“It’s only eight o’clock. And are you sure about cookies?” Aziraphale tucked away his pocket watch after pulling it out to look at it. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’d love to watch you make cookies and help as much as I could.”

With a gesture, Crowley indicated Aziraphale should step out into the now empty aisle. He exited behind him, putting a hand around his back when they were able to walk side-by-side. Aziraphale slid his arm onto Crowley’s back in return, the two of them walking back to the Bentley, a couple of beings in love who were no longer afraid to show affection. He opened the door for Aziraphale, shutting it again after the angel climbed in. Once Crowley situated himself, they were on their way.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Thai takeaway sounds good. We haven’t had Thai for about six months.”

Thai it was. They managed to reach Aziraphale’s favourite Thai restaurant before it closed and order a meal to go. Carrying out several bags filled with small containers out to the Bentley, Aziraphale placed them in the back seat on the floor where they would less likely to become victims of Crowley’s reckless driving. Aziraphale clung to the sides of his seat as they flew through Central London like they were racing on the Autobahn. Crowley made sure any traffic lights remained green for him.

“Let’s head back to your flat. I have baking ingredients in your fridge. We can head over . . . _oh, lord, Crowley!_. . . to the bookshop in the morning.”

Much to Aziraphale’s surprise they made it back in one piece and were soon enjoying Thai takeaway on the couch while Crowley cued up one of the streaming services he had hacked into to find something interesting to watch. After a lively debate between action and period films, they compromised and settled on a nice nature show. Aziraphale liked documentaries and the world itself fascinated Crowley even if he didn’t get on with animals very well. 

They cuddled up together, takeaway containers in their laps, chopsticks at the ready. Crowley opened his order after starting the film and tasted it. Fishing out another bite, he offered it to Aziraphale, who accepted it then offered some of his in return. That is how they spent the night — watching the television while alternating eating some of their food themselves and hand feeding the other. The tartan fleece blanket Aziraphale miracled up when autumn began, that Crowley only tolerated on his couch because it was of shades of black and grey, was pulled up over their laps. Warm and cosy, they spent a wonderful evening together.

Show over, food eaten, they miracled away the mess so they could head off to bed. The night was still fairly young, but a chill had set in that even the heat of Crowley’s flat couldn’t quite banish. Under the thick covers, they would lay side by side, Aziraphale reading while Crowley surfed the internet on his mobile, the occasional conversation breaking out. It was, in Crowley’s opinion, the perfect end to a night that didn’t start out that way.


	9. Kitchen Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitchens are for baking Christmas biscuits and sometimes other activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Making cookies

They had awoken the morning after the bell concert to have a leisurely breakfast then pack up the baking ingredients to drive over to the bookshop. Aziraphale was in the bookshop flat’s kitchen getting out ingredients while wearing a festive green Christmas apron that said “Cookie Crew” on it complete with a gingerbread man surrounded by a colourful string of fairy lights. He had ordered a matching red one for Crowley, hoping he’d agree to wear it, but Crowley only did after modifications. Before even putting it on, he had changed it to a more muted shade of crimson with the phrase “Pull My Cracker” and an arrow pointing downward. Aziraphale was not amused.

“What?” asked Crowley as he got out a bowl to set on the counter where they would work. “I think it’s hilarious. Check the recipe we’re going to use and make sure we’re dealing with the right measurements. If not, I’ll fix it.”

The offer placated Aziraphale, who didn’t mention the apron again. He held up a cookbook with a smile. “I made sure it’s British this time instead of American.”

Setting it down, he flipped it open to a place he had previously bookmarked. For this project, he had chosen some shortbread they could make, roll out to cut into shapes, then ice after they were baked. Wiggling in his slight happy manner, he went to fetch the vanilla extract. Crowley leaned on the counter in that bonelessly casual way of his and waited. 

“There.” Aziraphale set the bottle on the counter. “I believe we are ready.” He read the instructions. “’Preheat the oven to 190C/170C Fan/Gas 5. Line a baking tray with greaseproof paper.’” He paused with a blink and looked at Crowley. “What’s ‘fan’? Or ‘gas’?”

“The type of oven you have. Yours looks like a fan,” replied Crowley as he covered some baking sheets with parchment paper. There was not going to be a frustrated meltdown this time if he could prevent it.

“How do you even know that?”

“I got bored one year and had my kitchen remodelled. It’s amazing what you learn when shopping for new appliances.”

“But you don’t cook.”

“I said I was bored,” replied Crowley, who had turned the oven to 190C. “Now, what’s next?”

“Oh. Yes. ‘Cream the butter and sugar together in a bowl until combined. Beat in the egg and vanilla extract, a little at a time, until well combined, then stir in the flour and bring together to form a dough.’ Sounds simple enough.” Aziraphale pulled the mixing bowl closer to them and rechecked the amount of sugar required. “Can you be a dear and get the sugar ready?”

He dumped the required amount of butter in the bowl while Crowley miracled a kitchen scale into existence, calibrated it using a small empty bowl, then scooped sugar into it while watching the scale carefully. Going over, he poured some back into the sugar container, reweighed it then added a bit more. Satisfied, he put a little into the mixing bowl before Aziraphale set it on the stand mixer, lowered the beaters in and turned it on. They waited, watching the butter cream and the sugar mix in, almost forgetting to add more sugar when what they had was properly beaten. Soon, Crowley’s bowl was empty and Aziraphale added the vanilla while Crowley put the egg in. 

“That is pretty efficient,” remarked the angel as he watched the egg yolk go from whole to a pin-wheel streak through the creamed butter and sugar before disappearing entirely. “And how do you know how to measure ingredients, my dear? You’re not one to bake, either.”

“I looked it up before we started. You wanted this perfect. It’s going to be perfect.”

Aziraphale gave him a grateful kiss before asking him to show him how to measure out the needed flour. Telling Aziraphale it was a simple as scooping ingredients into the bowl on the scale, then reading the display, Crowley filled it with flour. Unfortunately, it would only hold 130g of flour when they needed 275, but that didn’t matter beyond having to measure out flour more than once. It had to be added slowly to keep it from overwhelming the batter and spraying all over the counter. Aziraphale carefully measured out the last of it, smiling proudly as he looked at the perfect amount on the scale’s display. Soon, the dough was ready and they moved down to a clean portion of the counter where Aziraphale lay down a glass cutting board to roll the dough out on. 

“’Roll the dough out on a lightly floured work surface to a thickness of 1cm. Using biscuit cutters, cut biscuits out of the dough and carefully place onto the baking tray.’,” he read. “How thick is a centimetre?”

Crowley shrugged. Both of them lived in a world where measurements were not needed. They didn’t need to measure ingredients (until now). They didn’t need to know their own height or weight. They had never engaged in anything where they had to measure out the length or volume of something, even Aziraphale in his book repairs measured out needed materials by measuring against the book itself rather than a ruler. The only measurement that really mattered to either of them was miles and that was only because they travelled by conventional means these days. Conjuring up a ruler, they both examined it to see the exact size of a centimetre. 

“Oh, that thick,” said Aziraphale. 

“Heh, I’m thicker.”

“Time and a place, Crowley.” Aziraphale had started rolling out the dough to find it was sticking to the cutting board and rolling pin despite adding flour. A look of dismay crossed his face and panicked blue eyes looked at Crowley. “What did we do wrong? We lightly floured everything.”

“Don’t get all excited yet, angel. Let me take a look here.” Crowley read the instructions again. Aziraphale was right; they had followed them correctly.

Pulling out his mobile, he tapped an inquiry into the search engine and perused the list that came up. Aziraphale looked on anxiously. Pressing on a link, he read the page that loaded with a grin. 

“What?” asked Aziraphale.

“Scrape that dough off the rolling pin, stick it back on the . . . umm . . . pile and get it all off the cutting board for a moment. We need to put down a sheet of parchment paper, then the dough, then more parchment paper and it can be rolled out without making a mess.” 

Aziraphale cleaned off the rolling pin before plopping all the dough back in the bowl while Crowley wiped the remaining residue off the rolling pin itself. Parchment paper and dough set up correctly, Aziraphale tried again. He got it rolled out to the required thickness without a problem. Meanwhile, Crowley discovered that dipping the biscuit cutters in flour would keep the dough from sticking to them. They were back in business and soon Aziraphale had baking trays full of stars, Christmas trees, gifts and snowflakes to place in the oven. 

They whipped up some icing while waiting for the biscuits to bake, soon having both baked biscuits cooling on racks by the oven and snowy white icing ready to be put into separate bowls to tint different colours. Aziraphale licked the spilt frosting off his fingers one by one, catching Crowley’s attention. From the way the demon’s pupils dilated, Aziraphale knew he was turning him on unintentionally. Should he continue?

He didn’t get a chance to answer that question before he was grabbed and an urgent crushing kiss placed on his lips. Crowley pressed his flour-covered body against Aziraphale’s, pushing the angel up against the cabinets and almost into the bit of useless dough left over from cutting out the biscuits. Aziraphale responded in kind, turning the kiss deep and sliding his arms around Crowley in return, ignoring the mess his back was almost up against now. It wasn’t like he couldn’t persuade Crowley to miracle it clean if he didn’t feel like taking the gooey dough out of his trousers himself. 

Crowley was holding Aziraphale’s head still, a firm grasp on his blond curls as he continued the kiss, not allowing the angel to break it as he played around in his mouth with his long flexible tongue. Aziraphale accepted this, wanting the contact as badly as Crowley did. He moaned lightly, pushing back enough that the small of his back wasn’t digging into the edge of the counter. 

“Like this?” he murmured into Crowley’s mouth. “Here in the kitchen?”

“Why not?”

He laid Aziraphale down on the tile, conjuring up a blanket and pillow for him and undressed him, throwing the apron aside along with everything else the angel was wearing. Now it was pure worship as Crowley touched every last part of Aziraphale within reach. Long fingers rubbed at his sensitive earlobes, causing him to moan before stroking downward towards the hollow of his throat where Crowley traced around the outside of it before placing careful kisses in the middle. Aziraphale leaned backed, pressing the back of his head deep into the pillow. He groaned his desires, his angelic nature magnifying them and throwing them back at the horny demon currently straddling his hips whose hands and lips had found their way on to Aziraphale’s torso.

“Comfortable enough?”

“It’ll do. I’m not going to be paying much attention to the surface we’re on in a few minutes.”

Crowley had stripped himself bare, not much interested in extended foreplay and more eager to get to the main event. Pressing his cock against Aziraphale’s cheeks, he made sure the angel was ready before continuing. Aziraphale gave his consent, nodding with a seductive smile and running fingers along Crowley’s spine. The demon entered him, pushing in slowly, almost teasingly as he lowered himself enough that his abdomen rubbed tantalisingly against Aziraphale’s cock. This wasn’t going to last long, but neither cared. Sometimes a quick romp in the kitchen was enough. Not everything had to be slow and romantic on the bed.

Crowley smiling above him, lowering and lifting himself as he thrust into Aziraphale, driving him mad as his abdomen rubbed against his cock only to lift off for a moment and then return once again to rub until a little more precome leaked out to get spread over the underside of his cock, making things that much slicker and more sensitive. Aziraphale shifted, thinking he could trap Crowley against him by wrapping his legs around his hips and hanging on with a bit of angelic strength, forcing the demon to maintain contact with him at all times.

“Not fair, angel.”

“You were not playing fair either. Now make me climax, foul fiend.”

“You only get to if I do.” Crowley laughed, a drip of sweat caused by the stuffy oven-heated room dripping on to Aziraphale’s collarbone.

Sweat was coming off of both of them thanks to the hot room. Aziraphale could feel the dampness of his curls and the beads forming between his back and the blanket. He thrust his hips upward, wanting Crowley to go deeper into him, moaning as Crowley hit just the right parts at just the right angle to give him the most pleasure from this encounter. They were both frenzied by now, operating almost completely on instincts as the surrounding air heated further with the supernatural manifestations of their own desires — waves of pleasure that vibrated out from angel and demon as they expressed their love and lust in such a physical manner. Not thinking about it, Aziraphale dug his fingernails into Crowley’s shoulder blades, an act which always caused him to involuntarily unfurl his wings. An instant later two large black wings sprang forth and filled the kitchen, the right one crashing into the cabinets and angling up towards the countertop as the two of them came hard and loud.

It was then the bowl of icing fell off the counter, the thankfully metal bowl bouncing off the tile of the kitchen floor and splattering fresh icing everywhere. A good amount of it landed on Crowley with a splat. He yelped in surprise as he felt the stuff hit his back and start to run down it then put his hand up to find it had landed in his hair as well. Aziraphale was fortunate. From his position, he was shielded by Crowley’s body and only a drop of the sticky confectionery landed on his earlobe. 

“Bless it all to Heaven!" Crowley swore while Aziraphale laughed until he no longer had the strength to hang on to Crowley’s hips. 

If it wasn’t one thing lately, it was another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was lazy and pulled up the first recipe that looked like it could be used for Christmas biscuits. The instructions Aziraphale reads off come from [here](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/icedbiscuits_3054).


	10. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a reason for lighting the candles he does one time per year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Candles
> 
> This chapter is on the short side, but I said what I needed to in about 1100 words. Hopefully, tomorrow's will be longer. It's not written yet. I'm so doing this by the seat of my pants.

_Judea, 164 BC_

_The last thing Crowley wanted was to be stuck in the Holy Land inside a desecrated temple hiding small and frightened and in snake form from humans who would be more than happy to slay him on sight. But Hell had ordered him to go check out the “skirmish” happening in Jerusalem between the Syrians and the Jewish people, which seemed to finally be coming to a head. It was no skirmish. It was an all-out battle for control of Jerusalem and the Jews’ right to practice their own religion. So here he was, trapped in the Second Temple where he had fled after having nowhere else to hide — it had been desecrated anyway by the Syrians sacrificing pigs inside its walls, so he would not sustain holy burns if he holed up there until he could safely move on. He didn’t know the Jews’ victory was close at hand and now they occupied the Second Temple day and night, depriving him of chances to flee from the dark corners he concealed himself in as they worked to rebuild the altar for re-dedication. Crowley had little time left before this became sacred ground again and it was getting to the point of fleeing no matter who was watching before he ended up with a belly full of serious burns. Discorporation was preferable, even if it meant a century of being grounded in Hell because he had just lost a body two years’ prior._

_His chance came after the altar was done, the menorah set back in its place and the crowd of men who had been working construction left to search for unspoilt olive oil with which to light the menorah. He bolted from his shadow-filled hiding place not noticing Her walking through the room at first. His heart leaping into his throat, he cowered, head drawn back into his coils as he shivered in fear. There was no hiding from Her. She knew he was here even if she hadn’t looked his direction yet._

_Placing her hand on menorah, She whispered a few words then turned Her head towards him, a smile playing across Her face as she put a finger to her lips._

_“Our little secret,” She said with a wink before calling him by a name he hadn’t heard in millennia and would never hear again. “Go quickly before they return.”_

_Tongue-tied, he nodded and slithered out faster than he had ever slithered before. Outside the Temple and far away from prying eyes, he became human-shaped. Unfurling his wings, he flew to a nearby hilltop to gaze down upon the land below him and wonder uneasily._

_Why had She spared him?_ [1]

_London, Present day_

The menorah stood on Crowley’s desk, one candle in the holder furthest right and one in his hand. Picking up the lighter he lit the shammus [2] and stood holding it for a moment. Blessings were said now, but he couldn’t chant such things. He was demon; his tongue tripped over the words and they came out meaningless. He thought of the candle lighting ceremonies he had secretly observed, could hear the humans singing the blessings in his head.

The blessing of the candles:

 _Barukh atah Adonai_  
 _Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam_  
 _asher kidishanu b'mitz'votav_  
 _v'tzivanu l'had'lik neir_  
 _shel Chanukah._  
 _Amein_ [3]

The blessing for the Chanukah Miracle:

 _Barukh atah Adonai_  
 _Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam_  
 _she'asah nisim la'avoteinu_  
 _bayamim haheim baziman hazeh._  
 _Amein_ [4]

And the Shehecheyanu blessing chanted only on the first night.

 _Barukh atah Adonai_  
 _Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam_  
 _shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu, v'higi'anu_  
 _laz'man hazeh._  
 _Amein_ [5]

They praised Her, something he was no longer allowed to do. Crowley smiled grimly because that was beside the point. He wondered if he had ever been created to do such a thing or if he had only been created to ask questions so he would be thrown out of Heaven with the other sceptics and outright rebellious types. The ineffable Plan obviously had an idea of what it wanted to accomplish so not only did free will enter the world, but it could be given a reprieve later on, even if all things did eventually come to an end. A cosmic chess piece, he thought as he lit the single candle in the menorah and placed the shammus in its spot. Then he placed the menorah on a small table in front of his window. It was traditional to place the lit menorah on a windowsill where the miracle of Channukah could be seen by those who passed by. Crowley did not care if humans saw it or not, but he hoped She would and know his intentions in lighting these candles each night of the holiday. 

It was a thank you and a silent plea for forgiveness for asking those questions that led to his fate.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft. “You didn’t answer the door. Is everything alright?”

He approached Crowley from behind to stand by his side and noticed the menorah there. He cocked his head to one side, confusion on his face as he gazed at Crowley. The demon smiled at him with a shrug before his eyes turned to the menorah, the candlelight flickering in his golden gaze. With his pupils dilated in the dark of the office, they almost appeared human. The rest of him already did — he resembled a fragile being uncertain of his place in the world. Many humans were exactly that at one time or another during their lives. 

“I light them every year to show Her I’m grateful She didn’t smite me into literal oblivion right there. Maybe if I show I’m thankful for that, one day She’ll forgive me. I know. It’s a long shot. Chances are She never will.”

“Dearheart. ” Aziraphale laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Maybe that’s because you don’t need to be forgiven.”

His hand slid down to take up Crowley’s and they stood watching the candles burn until more than a half-hour later, they burned themselves out, their flames quenching one after the other in their own melted wax. 

“Come,” said Aziraphale as they gazed out onto the night lights of London. “Let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll make tea. If you want, I’d love to hear the story behind this. If not, that’s all right. Whenever you’re ready to tell it, I’ll be ready to listen.”

Hand-in-hand, they made their way to the kitchen where Crowley told the story over cups of tea and Aziraphale listened, thinking there had been more than one miracle that occurred in the Temple that day. He was very convinced any other demon would have been sent back to Hell, bodiless.

~*~*~

She watched them from Her own location that remained unknown to others, even Her angels. Aziraphale was right even though Crowley didn’t understand it yet, but She had faith he’d get there someday. One who had earned the love of an angel was not in need of forgiveness. She dissipated the miracle that allowed Her to see them and headed out for a serene walk in Her garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Footnotes
> 
> 1. The miracle of Channukah is that they had only one day's worth of oil, but it lasted for eight.↩
> 
> 2. The candle used to light all the other candles.↩
> 
> 3. Blessed are you, Lord / our G-d, sovereign of the universe/ Who has sanctified us with His commandments/ and commanded us to light the lights of Chanukah. / Amen↩
> 
> 4. Blessed are you, Lord / our G-d, sovereign of the universe / who performed miracles for our ancestors / in those days at this time. / Amen↩
> 
> 5. Blessed are you, Lord/ our G-d, sovereign of the universe / who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us / to reach this season. / Amen↩


	11. Dreidel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is determined to cheer up the sullen Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chanukah

Crowley expected to spend most of Chanukah alone since he had turned into his own personal means of trying to communicate with the Almighty, but Aziraphale was by his side the morning after the angel discovered him in his office lighting the candles, much to his surprise. He had been convinced Aziraphale wouldn’t want to be around someone as morose as he was right now. Aziraphale proved him wrong, and he woke up next him after a long conversation about that escape of long ago. 

“Good morning, my dear.” Aziraphale kissed along Crowley’s bare chest in greeting, his hand softly on his shoulder as he lay with his head cradled on Crowley’s pectorals. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, pretty good.” 

Crowley played idly with Aziraphale’s white-gold curls, twisting a few locks around his finger in a gentle manner. Somehow his spirits seemed lifted this morning after tea and sympathy from Aziraphale, although he had expected to be left to his own devices for he had told Aziraphale to go back to the bookshop and allow him to seek forgiveness alone. The angel didn’t need to be involved in his wallowing when he was looking to have a happy Christmas season. Instead, he found himself entwined in bed with him this morning. 

Aziraphale sat up, Crowley struggling up with him to cup his head in his hands and lovingly kiss him in thanks for his understanding the night before. He laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, feeling Aziraphale’s hands on his back, warm and comforting. He turned his head to nip playfully at his ear, earning him a short giggle in return.

“Feeling frisky?”

“A little.”

“How about we do some Chanukah activities today?”

“I don’t really celebrate, angel. I just light the candles and hope they’re noticed.”

“I truly believe you don’t need forgiveness. You have that spark of goodness that all the other demons lack. You just did your job to keep Hell from punishing you,” replied Aziraphale as he got up and put on his boxers followed by a pair of cosy flannel pyjamas. “It took me until the world almost ended, but I see it now. I wish you did as well, my dear. Now, you sit tight. I’m going to go make us some breakfast.”

Crowley blinked. “Breakfast? What? Aziraphale, you barely cook!”

“I’m learning. I found a nice recipe but don’t worry. I’ll use some miracles this time if I need to.” 

Crowley flopped back on the pillows as Aziraphale headed out in his dressing robe, determined to cheer Crowley up. Sometimes it was best to just let him. Resigned to allowing Aziraphale to do what he felt he needed to, Crowley got his mobile to play a few apps on to pass the time. He was still trying to figure out the appeal of “Among Us” and failing miserably. It appeared to just be another example of the human hive mind, which he could exploit to ensure he won, but he failed to understand how the dumbest things became accepted as irrefutable fact and the right course of action. He could call an emergency meeting, tell the crew that he saw Red standing over a vent (only imposters could travel by vents) and get the poor guy voted off even if Crowley himself was the impostor. It was so routine now it had become rather boring.

The clanging from the kitchen finally became concerning enough he got up, putting on pyjama pants and his dressing robe to walk down to the kitchen and investigate. He half-expected to find an upset Aziraphale sitting in the middle of a horrible mess. Instead, he found an industrious angel slicing up bread from a loaf to coat in beaten egg and cook in the pan on the stove. Two nicely cooked pieces of eggy bread already sat ready to go on a plate. Crowley raised an impressed eyebrow.

“So how many miracles did this take?”

“Only two.” Aziraphale placed the next two pieces of coated bread in the pan. “I needed bread and then I didn’t want to burn it.”

“Is that brioche?”

“Well, brioche makes an excellent eggy bread.” He turned to Crowley, a smile on his face that light up the entire room. “I thought later we’d get some latkes [1], brisket, sufganiyot [2], and we’ll probably need some sides to go with it to balance out the fried stuff. Is there some takeaway place we could just get all that instead of making it?”

“It’s London, so probably.”

“Well, then. We have dinner plans.”

“This is not necessary.”

“I want to do it.” Aziraphale paused. "What about challah? [3] Or is that too much?"

"Too much. That's ceremonial, so let's let it be. I can't do blessings, you know, nor are either of us Jewish."

Aziraphale turned the bread before it burned while Crowley looked at this soft angel who had become so invested in his happiness and well-being now that Heaven was no longer breathing down his neck. As soon as he was done flipping it over, Crowley moved in for a hug, a warm deep appreciative one that he would have never given if they were not on their own side. Aziraphale’s blond curls tickled his cheek as his long eyelashes tickled Aziraphale’s in turn when he moved in to leave a kiss on his neck. 

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too, Crowley.”

The smell of smoke reached their nostrils prompting Crowley to snap his fingers over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Two perfectly cooked slices of eggy bread floated over to the empty plate awaiting them while the scent of burning food disappeared. Aziraphale moved the plates to the table and got out some maple syrup. He looked at the lack of cups at the place settings.

“Oh! I forgot the tea!”

“Just miracle some. It’ll taste just as good.”

They sat down to eat, two cups of tea suddenly appearing. Crowley nodded his approval at the taste of the eggy bread. Aziraphale had had a great idea, and he was glad the angel decided to make it happen. He felt his spirits rise just a touch more. 

“All right. I don’t know what to do today before we head out to get Chanukah food takeaway, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

Crowley shot him a lecherous grin. “Oh, I’m sure we can.”

“Insatiable serpent!”

~*~*~

They stood at the counter of a local Jewish deli putting in their order. Or Aziraphale was happily telling the man behind the counter what he wanted while Crowley stood by patiently waiting. He looked off to the side where three children sat playing with a dreidel [4] in one of the deli’s booths. The girl had a rather large pile of gelt [5] in front of her. The two boys seemed rather disgruntled by this. Grinning, Crowley sauntered over. They looked up at him.

“Hey. Can I join?”

“Maybe,” the nearest boy looked him up and down while the other one peered out from behind his shoulder. 

The girl nervously fidgeted with the dreidel itself before looking at Crowley. “You wanna play?”

“Nah. I just wanted to watch while my friend there’s ordering our food.” He never disclosed his relationship with Aziraphale to humans. It was theirs and theirs alone, so he was fiercely protective of it after millennia of having to keep it a secret from both their sides as if revealing it might somehow make it dissolve away.

She scooted over so he could join them. They each had a pile of gelt in front of them with a smaller pile in the centre of the table The first boy grabbed the top from the girl and spun it. It landed on a symbol that Crowley recognised as gimel, a letter in the Hebrew alphabet. The boy laughed and took the pot in the middle while the other boy groaned.

“I have less gelt than anyone,” he complained.

“It’s just a game,” said the girl.

The other boy was too busy counting his gelt to say much until he was finished. “I have more than Sarah now!”

“We just play for fun,” Sarah emphasised again. “Mum and Dad make sure we all get plenty of gelt. Mum said no fighting or bragging.”

“Yeah,” added the other boy. 

“I play for the gelt. We all do,” said the first boy. “What about you, mister?”

Crowley grinned. “No gelt, no glory.”

The boy shoved the dreidel his way. “Here, give it a spin. If you get gimel or hay, I’ll give you one of mine.”

Crowley shook his head and pulled out several miracled-up gelt out of his pocket. “No need. I’ve got my own.”

He threw a few in the pot, keeping the rest in front of him. Taking the dreidel he spun it. It came up a letter that roughly resembled a “W”. The children laughed at his bad luck as he tossed another piece of gelt to the centre of the table.

“Shin! Shin! Put one in!” they all chanted. 

“My turn!” the girl said, grabbing the dreidel. 

She got shin, too.

“Shin! Shin! Put one in!” chanted the boys again, excited to see the pot grow.

It was back to the smaller boy, who got nun, which meant he did nothing. But it was a bit of a consolation that he didn’t have to give up gelt even if it was disappointing he didn’t win the pot. The older boy spun again, getting shin and setting off the chant. Crowley was up next and ended up with hay, which meant he won half the pot. 

“Beginner’s luck!” laughed the older boy. “You just started playing with us.”

By now Aziraphale was beside the table watching the four play as he waited for their meal to be ready. The latkes were made fresh since fried foods didn’t keep well. He smiled at Crowley and greeted the children.

“What are you four up to?”

“Playing dreidel,” said the younger boy. “Our mum and dad run the deli. They said if we can play quietly here for a couple of hours, we can open a gift when we get home.”

“Sounds exciting,” said Aziraphale.

“Spin, will you? We don’t have all day, you know,” said Crowley.

The children laughed and the girl spun the top. The game kept going until Crowley ran out of gelt by his own design, and declared himself done. Taking more out of his pocket, he gave two to each child, then excused himself from the game.

“Our food’s ready. Gotta go, but it was fun. Good luck all of you. May you win lots of gelt.”

“Bye! Happy Chanukah!”

“That was very nice of you, Crowley,” said Aziraphale as they headed back to the Bentley.

“Shut up.” His words didn’t carry the same derisive tone they usually did when he said that particular phrase.

~*~*~

“I’m going to die I’m so full,” complained Crowley as he looked at the remains of their feast.

Only some brisket remained. They had devoured the braised shallots, latkes and sufganiyot. It was probably a good thing, too, since the fried stuff wouldn’t keep and the shallots didn’t taste the same as leftovers. Aziraphale sat across from him looking ready to burst. He brushed sugar from the last sufganiyah off his hands and looked at the leftover brisket that had been cooked with fennel and other herbs. 

“Hmm, that might make good sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.”

“You’re thinking of lunch? I’m thinking of hibernating.”

“So, no fun for me tonight?” asked Aziraphale slyly as he miracled away the dirty dishes. There was a slight clatter as they settled, clean and dry, back in their places in the cabinet. 

Crowley chuckled a full and happy sound that warmed Aziraphale’s heart. “I never said that. I think I can do one performance before I spend the rest of the week sleeping, provided you’re on top.”

He got up and headed out of the kitchen, taking off his shirt as he walked away. Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn down to his arse as he moved into the living room and out of sight.

“I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he called back to the stunned angel who still was sitting in his chair.

On the way, he stopped by the office to check on the menorah. The candles had burnt themselves out again, three this time. Seeing that it was done for the night, he miracled away the hardening wax and continued on to his bedroom where he found an angel in bed waiting for him. Smiling, Crowley stripped down to his pants and slid in with Aziraphale. 

“Hello there, angel. What brings you to these parts?”

Aziraphale shifted over to straddle Crowley, his lack of clothing very apparent. He leaned over to nibble Crowley’s ear before answering. “Oh, I don’t know . . . it just might be the attractive demon I heard was in the area.”

Crowley allowed his partner to pamper him tonight. Forgiveness could wait until dusk again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Footnotes
> 
> 1. Potato pancakes fried in oil, the best known of the Chanukah foods.↩
> 
> 2. A fried jelly donuts usually sprinkled with sugar eaten during Chanuah.↩
> 
> 3. Challah is a Kosher loaf of braided bread made with eggs, water, flour, yeast and salt. It has a rich flavour similar to brioche and is usually eaten on ceremonial occasions such as the Sabbath and Jewish holidays. Blessings are done over it before the meal begins.↩
> 
> 4. A four-sided top played during Chanukah. The four Hebrew letters on the sides are נ (nun), ג (gimel), ה (hei), ש (shin), which represent the phrase "A great miracle happened there." Nun is replaced by פ (peh) in Israel and the phrase becomes "A great miracle happened here."↩
> 
> 5. Gold foil-wrapped coins given as Chanukah presents or to play dreidel. It's pretty gross and waxy tasting.↩


	12. The Jumper Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Aziraphale tempt Crowley into wearing an ugly Christmas jumper? Of course he can! It's wasn't like he didn't spend about a thousand years occasionally doing Crowley's job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ugly sweater

“Please, Crowley?”

“No.”

“Not even for me?”

“No.”

“Just for one day?”

“No.”

Crowley stormed out of the bedroom, Aziraphale following behind carrying a jumper folded over his arm. The angel was dressed in a rather awful jumper of a horrible red with a white snowflake pattern and a llama wearing a scarf and sunglasses for some odd reason. The scarf was sewn on separately and had real tassels on it. Crowley was trying to understand the point and failing miserably.

“Humans find them funny.”

“Yeah? I’m not human. Get away from me!”

Aziraphale was holding out the spare jumper with a pleading look on his face. “Please?”

Crowley slumped on to the couch of the bookshop flat, glaring up his angel. “Only in your dreams, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sat down next to him, running a finger along his thigh, his sky blue eyes looking seductively up at him from a demure position. He licked his lips, causing the demon to raise an amused eyebrow at him. Leaning in, he got close to Crowley’s ear, breathing in it before nibbling around the edges and listening to Crowley suck in a quick breath.

“What if I make it worth your while?”

“I’d think about it.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, yes,” breathed Crowley in reply, a finger caressing along the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat, sliding it into the collar of the button-up shirt he wore beneath his jumper through the gap between buttons.

“What do you want?”

“Oral. It’s been a while since I’ve changed efforts, too. You need practice in that area. I mean, a cock’s easy, but a cunt takes talent and you’ve got some to learn, angel.”

“That’s a rude thing to say, Crowley.”

“It’s nothing but the truth.” Crowley leaned forward to kiss him on the nose. “Are you going to indulge me or not?”

“Of course. I think you need to undress, my dear.”

They were caught up in each other’s embrace now, engaging in the beginnings of foreplay when Aziraphale felt small breasts bloom into existence against his own chest and pulled back to look Crowley in a face more feminine-looking than a few moments earlier. He was used to such happenings as Crowley was not one to choose a presentation and stick with it like he was. She smiled at him, her mouth tugging up at the corners in a seductive manner that was making him hard. Serpentine eyes travelled downward as she felt it rise against her thigh. Aziraphale blushed a lovely shade of pink while Crowley laughed.

“I guess this shape passes muster.”

“I like any shape as long as it’s you.”

With much tugging, pulling, unbuttoning and a possible miracle used against tight skinny jeans, their clothing lay scattered across the couch and floor. Crowley, wanting to take advantage of the situation, allowed Aziraphale to spoil her. First, he worshipped her lips until she was convinced she’d have to heal away small bruises, laying smooches from chaste to passionate, from soft to hard on them until he moved on to nibbling at her jawline. Now he was on to her neck, kissing down one side then the other to keep things before he paid some special attention to her collarbones, sucking on the left one hard enough she knew she was sporting a love bite. No matter. It would be easy to take care of as her sore lips. 

“You really want me to wear that jumper.”

“Of course.”

He leaned her back as he reached her breasts. First, he spent some time teasing her by massaging them, touching every single centimetre of skin on both without getting close to her nipples, the one area that turned her on. Finally, he leisurely grabbed a hold on both between index fingers and thumbs, rolling the small hard nipples between them while Crowley gasped. He watched her face, the look of pure lust on it fuelling his own desires. Pressing them harder, he got a yelp out of her as she jumped in response. He chuckled with satisfaction. 

“I won’t go harder, love.”

“Better . . . not.”

Aziraphale was between her legs, a knee shoved up against her cunt, rubbing up and down as he felt her juices start to spread across his kneecap. Yes, this version of Crowley could be so much fun. He bent forward to bite a nipple, loving the scream she let out. Settling in to suck it hard, occasionally letting up to run his tongue over it in slow circles before returning to the sucking. She writhed on the couch, panting and begging him to keep up working her other nipple with his fingers. Getting his coordination together, he stopped fumbling around with it and got his fingering in tune with his sucking. Yes, he needed a bit of practice with that one. 

Below him, Crowley was lost in a world created entirely of her own passion, crying out as it coursed through her body with every action Aziraphale performed on her erogenous zones. He hadn’t even got to the good part, but her mind was quickly turning into nothing more than a lump of sexually-driven neurons. Her hands were permanently planted on his back, frozen as she could not do more than dig her fingernails into his skin. Her heart only beat right now because such bodily functions become innate after six thousand years in a body, and she kept breathing because her vocal cords felt the desire to scream to the world the awesome effects Aziraphale was having on her desires. And she knew he was about to head down there to do more with his tongue than could be done with his knee. She mewed pitifully when she realised he was no longer touching her breasts, but moving into a different position.

_Oh, fuck . . ._

She braced herself to feel the first swipes of his tongue and about slammed her thighs shut on the sides of his head as they came. He started licking at her outer labia, which were only slightly sensitive, but soon moved on to her inner one, touching them gently with quick swipes to get her used to him being down there again. Localised areas of good feelings sprang to life wherever his tongue touched as he swiped along her vulva, working himself deeper inside, then finally travelling upwards to the clit, the prize she wanted him to reach. It was frustrating to realise that he was lazily going to circle it for some time, teasing her with licks and the rare moment or two of sucking before he decided he wanted more. Damn that angel.

She could not hold still while all this extreme feeling was happening, her right leg shaking slightly, jarring her out of her good place whenever she became in tune enough with herself to feel it. Aziraphale firmly pushed her legs open with a touch that remained gentle. Spreading them out again before she squeezed his head, she managed to move her hands down there to put on her own thighs in an attempt to keep her legs from moving. 

Right there. He was working the correct spot, sucking lightly on until she could take no more, then licking after a bit of a reprieve before sneaking a hand in there to rub when his mouth needed a break. One tiny nub of flesh was commanding her full attention right now. It all began to blend into one, fingers, tongue, sucking . . it mattered not. She was simply feeling until everything exploded behind her eyes, her voice screaming itself hoarse without her input as the waves overtook her. Oh, God . . . she was going to discorporate.

And that bastard kept it up as if he had something to prove in light of her comments. She was sweating, the dampness evident on her temples where it soaked into her hair and trapped between her back and the sofa, which was starting to feel cool against her spine thanks to it. She could take no more. As it was, she was convinced her legs had given up, and she’d have to take snake form again to move around or spend forever on Aziraphale’s couch.

“I think that’s enough for now.” 

The sound of Aziraphale’s caring tones reached her as she lay inside a cocoon of sated pleasure inside her mind. He sat her up, holding her there long enough to pull something warm and fuzzy over her head then miracle a pair of panties around her lower parts before he carried her off to the bedroom where he lay her down on the bed. Aziraphale pulled the blankets up over her, pausing long enough to put his own boxers on before joining her for some post-coital cuddles.

“What about you?” Crowley slurred sleepily.

“I took care of myself while you were starting to come down. It didn’t take much,” he chuckled. “And you were in no condition to take more. I’m sorry, love. I overdid it.”

“Yeah . . . s’all right.”

She turned over, inviting him to spoon up against her, cuddling her close as they both fell asleep again. It was mid-morning. Mid-afternoon had rolled around before either one of them stirred, and Crowley woke up first, feeling very warm and contented. Still in female form, she wondered what the softness on her arms was and sat up to inspect the fuzzy black jumper Aziraphale had slid over her head. Pulling it out from her body, she looked down at it. It was the Christmas jumper Aziraphale had wanted her to wear and had a list of tick boxes on it that said “Naughty”, “Nice” and “Drunk”. The drunk one was marked with a cheerful red tick. Crowley let the jumper snap back against her body and lay down again with a sigh. 

“Aziraphale, I’m going to discorporate you.”

“No, you won’t,” he replied sleepily. “I did what you asked and you had a wonderful time. You’re going to wear that jumper.”

“I’m burning it after today.”

Aziraphale petted her hair softly as he replied. “That’s fine, my dear. I’ll just buy you a new one next year.”

The jumper wasn’t burned. At least this one was tolerable. Crowley didn’t trust him to not purchase something even worse next year because that would be a perfect moment for Aziraphale to let his bastard side shine through if only to let Crowley know that he was determined to win this battle. Crowley decided to let him have it. There would be others.


	13. Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody ever talks about the snake and the Principality who showed up at the first Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nativity

_Bethlehem, 1 AD_

Aziraphale stood up quickly from the bed upon whence he sat in his lodgings as Gabriel entered and a black tail disappeared quickly under it. He smiled nervously.

“Gabriel. Fancy you paying me a visit. Don’t you have the honour of making the announcement to the shepherds?”

“I do, but I have a few minutes before that happens. Everyone’s got to get into position to fly around singing ‘Glory to God in the highest’ and all that. I wanted to thank you for staying here in Bethlehem to ward off evil.”

“Well, singing was never my thing . . .”

“But Michael’s been held up, so we need you to guard the house until she gets here.”

“Guarding is my speciality.” Aziraphale tried not to fidget as his anxiety started to take over. 

“Good! I knew I could count on you.” Gabriel turned to leave but turned right back around. “Almost forgot . . . a flaming sword isn’t quite appropriate for this job, so here’s a regular one.” He thrust the sheathed thing at Aziraphale. “Keep it in the ethereal plane unless you need it. This is supposed to be a joyous event, not a military one. And give it to Michael when she gets here. Thanks.” His brow furrowed a moment as he sniffed the air. “Why do I smell demon?”

Aziraphale paused a moment, a smile frozen on his face. “There were rumours of a red-haired woman dressed in black in the area. I suspect Hell has sent the demon Crawly over here to see what was going on. I noticed the smell, too, and suspect I took over the room she was staying in. I’m sure that fiend is far from here by now. The fields are full of angels and the house is protected.”

“Good one, Aziraphale. Keep your eyes open. Make sure she did leave. This event is too important for that snake to be messing up.”

He walked out the door and Aziraphale sat back down on the bed with a sigh. That was too close for his liking. Even though Crawly couldn’t see him, he gave the bed one of his hardest glares.

“That snake’s not going to do anything,” came a scornful voice from under it. “What does he take me for?”

“A demon,” replied Aziraphale primly. “Which you are.”

“Yes, but unlike the Almighty, I’m not in the habit of killing children.” 

Crawly slithered out, winding her way up the bedpost to the straw-filled mattress. She coiled up beside Aziraphale. 

“That was uncalled-for, Crawly.”

“Nothing but the truth. So, when are we going? That kid’s got to be born by now.”

“ _I’m_ heading to the house now, but I think the only place _you_ are going is on to the next town. It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

“I just want to see this so-called Son of God. I’m undetectable as long as I’m in snake form. How do you think I managed to stay camped out in an apple tree for as long as I did without you noticing?” Crawly slithered closer, now suddenly small enough to fit nicely around Aziraphale’s waist and remain hidden under his outer robe. “Gabriel only picked up on the scent of my human form. Besides, all the angels are going to be out in the fields getting the attention of a few scared shepherds. They’ll pat themselves on the back for a job well done and head back up to Heaven. Not one of them wants to stick around Earth, no matter who’s been born on it.”

“Fine. Just remember it’s _your_ funeral.”

~*~*~

The house was quiet when the two arrived, no shepherds had completed their journey in from the fields upon hearing Gabriel’s announcement. Aziraphale stood outside, for now, staring in awe at the humble birthplace of this important child. The angels were not told if he actually was the Son of God or not, but they did know he was destined to preach love and kindness, and his followers would eventually form a whole new religion. 

Crawly’s tail vibrated against his ribcage. “Are we going to go in?” 

“I’m . . . umm . . . working up the courage for that.”

“The shepherds will be here soon. If we want an exclusive peek, we’d best not wait.” Crawly slithered up his chest, settling herself, so she could peek out from the gap in his outer robe. “I wonder if they’ll all come at once or in shifts.”

“Probably shifts. They can’t leave the sheep alone. The dogs by themselves can’t always fend off wild animals and poachers.”

“True. That means we really need to get in there before there’s a parade of humans around here.”

Aziraphale gave up arguing with her and trudged towards the door. Upon opening it, they found it was reminiscent of a typical house of the region. It belonged to one of Joseph’s relatives, and they had many family members staying here. The upstairs guest room was full, so Mary and Joseph were housed downstairs in the living and dining quarters. It was a cold night, so the family’s donkeys and dairy cow and calf had been brought inside as was common at the time. The smell of hay filled the air and occasionally the sound of a snort was heard from the donkeys. Otherwise, it was quiet as the young Mary cradled and nursed her firstborn child while the woman attending the birth examined the expelled afterbirth to make sure the new mother had passed all of it. She turned a concerned face towards the newcomer, but Joseph signalled everything was fine and the woman got on with cleaning up the mess then slipping out to give the new family some time together. She would head upstairs to tell the family a healthy boy had been born, and they would filter down to give their congratulations in the morning. 

“Hello,” said Aziraphale to the couple. “I am the Principality Aziraphale and I have been sent to guard the house tonight.”

Mary smiled at him. “We are honoured, Principality Aziraphale.” She was well-spoken for one so young. “Many will come to honour my son tonight, but would you like to be the first to see him?”

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale stepped closer to view the tiny infant, wrinkled and reddish from the hardships of birth and sporting a head of thick black hair. “He’s beautiful. Congratulations to you. May I bless him?”

Mary nodded. “Yes. And your friend may have a look, too.”

Aziraphale froze his hand over the baby in preparation for the blessing he would give the newborn. Now what did he do? He felt Crawly’s trail vibrate again against his ribcage and a small black head with a red chin emerged to gaze unblinkingly upon her and the child. Crawly’s tongue flickered out into the warm air as a donkey brayed in the background. Aziraphale swallowed down his nerves and finished the little blessing he gave the child. It wasn’t much, but it was the thought that counted. Mary nodded her thanks. 

“Cute kid,” said Crawly. There was no use hiding what she was. Mary apparently was keenly sensitive to supernatural energies. “Why allow me near your child? You should have thrown me out.”

“I’ve been told about you two. The future holds great deeds for you both, although I cannot say more than that.” 

She pulled the swaddling cloth back up over the baby’s head to keep the chill off of him. Only his sleeping face showed now. The serpent and the angel exchanged puzzled looks before Aziraphale cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. Crawly, feeling uncomfortable, withdrew back against Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Well, thank you for the honour,” said Aziraphale with a slight bow. “We do so appreciate it and I’ll get on my guarding duties. Peace be upon you tonight.”

They left the house to stand guard outside, Crawly remaining wrapped around Aziraphale all night while they listened to the angels in the skies sing the Almighty’s praises. Shepherds arrived to see the newborn Gabriel had proclaimed the saviour of mankind. A large star appeared that evening, twinkling brighter than any heavenly body in the night sky. Aziraphale learned later that its appearance would start three wise men on a year’s journey to seek out this child and present him with gifts. But that was all. A humble birth in a crowded house during the census and visits from a handful of shepherds who lived rough in the fields followed by three scholars who arrived much later. 

“You’d think there would be more,” Aziraphale said as he kept watch in the company of the serpent he had shared this world with since the beginning.

“Eh, you know Her. She’s probably putting on a big show without putting on a big show.”

“You have a point. I wouldn’t put it past Her.”

Aziraphale waited at his post, wishing for warm mulled wine until Michael appeared. Crawly crept off when the Archangel appeared in the sky, waiting silently for Aziraphale in the tall grass growing at the back corner of the house. The angels exchanged pleasantries, Aziraphale handed over the sword and headed around to the back of the house where Crawly awaited. She again took up her position wrapped securely around his waist and stayed in snake form until they reached the far end of town where no other angels tread.

“So, where are you off to?” Crawly asked as she transformed back to human-shaped, taking a moment to adjust her veil. 

“I’m heading back to Jerusalem. I might be sent to Egypt very soon, but Gabriel hasn’t made any definitive plans. You?”

“I’ll have to make a report back to Hell about this, but I’ll say the town was crawling with angels and I couldn’t get close enough to verify what was going on. They’ll buy it.”

“Do be careful.”

“I always am. Enjoy Egypt. I hear they’re rather advanced compared to the surrounding civilisations.”

And the two parted ways, knowing it would never be long before they ran into each other again.

~*~*~

_Present-day_

Aziraphale unwrapped figure after figure of the nativity he placed in the bookshop’s window under the small trimmed Christmas tree he placed there on a table next to a display of books on Christmas. Crowley sat in a nearby leather chair enjoying a glass of red wine, one leg slung casually over the arm of it. He watched Aziraphale go about his task, not making any comments until the angel placed the occupied manager between the figures of Mary and Joseph. 

“She knew,” he stated succinctly.

“Knew what, dear boy?”

“That we would have a hand in keeping the world from ending.”

“We hardly did anything but act like a couple of incompetent fools.”

“Oh, Adam would have never grown up human had I not misplaced him. Nor would we have been able to give him that pep talk that enabled him to stand up to his biological father if you hadn’t had got your hands on Agnes’ book and figured out who he was. We set it up so the humans could play their cards.”

“Modest, aren’t you?”

“It's the truth, and Mary somehow knew it.”

“Yes, well . . . she wasn’t an ordinary person, you know. Anyway, I think we’ve done all the great deeds we’re ever going to do and that doesn’t bother me in the least. What would you say to a perfectly normal dinner at the Ritz?”

“I wouldn’t object at all.”

Aziraphale locked up the bookshop for the evening while Crowley miracled his wineglass away. Taking each other’s arms, they headed out to the Bentley and a miracled-free table for a delightful dinner. They discussed adventures long over, laughing over the many mistakes they had made and absurd situations they had found themselves in over the long millennia before they toasted the quiet present they lived with glasses of champagne. There was something to be said about the peace of retirement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do enjoy the study of history, which is probably obvious to those of you who are regular readers. Chances are good Jesus was not born in a stable. Tradition is the family ended up there when the inn was full, but the gospels were originally written in Greek and they had no word for "inn" at the time. The word actually translates more correctly to "guest room". Joseph and Mary would be staying with his relatives, who wouldn't house family, let alone one expecting a child, in a barn if their guest lodgings happened to be full up. They probably stayed on the lower level of the house where the living quarters were. There is also archaeological evidence that people of the era would bring valuable animals inside when it was cold or to keep them from being stolen. Thus, animals and managers enter the story. 
> 
> Of course, it's probably all myth. When the Romans took the census, they were after accurate headcounts of towns so they knew exact populations for the allocation of resources. They weren't interested in making people travel to register at their ancestral dwelling places. But the whole story had to be tweaked because prophecy said the saviour would be born in Bethlehem, not Galilee, and that's why we have the story we have today.


	14. They Twinkle Like Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale decorates the bookshop. Crowley decorates the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fairy lights

“So, what are we up to this evening?” asked Crowley as he bounced down the spiral staircase after they took an early dinner break so Aziraphale could return to running the bookshop. He found him taking strands of white fairy lights out of boxes and stretching them out across the bookshop’s floor. “Don’t tell me you’re stringing those all over the bookshelves.”

“Just the windows. I thought it would look nice. Nothing like some fairy lights to lift your spirits this time of year.”

Crowley smiled mischievously, looking Aziraphale up and down with a lick of his lips. “An angel bound in fairy lights this time of year would sure lift my spirits.”

“Sometimes I think you are taking human hormones a little too seriously,” Aziraphale scolded, but Crowley could hear the loving tones behind it. “And I’m still open even if there is nobody in here.”

Crowley shrugged, not worried. He was using a bit of demonic influence to keep the bookshop empty.

“It’s fun. I think you agree, angel.” Quickly he wrapped Aziraphale in the strands, pulling him over to him to kiss passionately, tongue lingering in Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale unwrapped himself with a laugh. “Later, Crowley. We can’t constantly be falling into bed. Someone could walk through the door.”

“They won’t.”

“Come help me, Crowley. There’s more to life than just physical lovemaking. Wouldn’t you get bored, my dear?”

“Nope.”

“Silly demon.” Aziraphale was attaching suction cups with hooks on them to the window now. He held out a hand. “Be a love and hand me that string of lights, please?”

Crowley picked them walking, walking over to give them to Aziraphale. Their hands touched, a small feeling of excitement travelling between them as it happened. Aziraphale blushed with a smile as he took them up. Starting in the lower-left corner of the window, he draped them around the edges, standing on tiptoe to get the strands around the top, his shirt and waistcoat rising just enough to give Crowley a peek of skin. It was most appreciated. Stepping forward, he leaned against Aziraphale’s back, his hands taking the strands from him and hanging them. Aziraphale stiffened slightly to feel the warmth of his demon’s body against his back, his breath catching in an almost imperceptible manner.

“Thank you, Crowley.”

Aziraphale continued to string the fairy lights around the window with a demon on his back, kissing gently at his neck, hands up his shirt against his bare skin. He slapped Crowley away playfully, looking over his shoulder to smile at him.

“Goodness, let me finish this.”

“Why?”

Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder even though he was done decorating this particular window. Ducking out from under Crowley’s arms, he moved on to put the lights on the remaining front window. He only made it part of the way before he was backed against a small sliver of free space past the front door and kisses solidly, a pack of suction cups in one hand and a string of lights looped over his neck. Crowley came up for air, grabbing the fairy lights with a light tug.

“Do that later.”

“I’m here right now with the supplies at hand. You’re telling me you can’t wait ten minutes or so?”

“No.”

“Impatient insatiable demon.”

Aziraphale pushed him away, much to Crowley’s annoyance. A frown crossed his handsome face as he pushed fallen red hair out of his face, and he backed up. Turning on his heel, he headed towards the spiral staircase, striding purposely up to the top where he leaned over the railing and called down to Aziraphale, who had got back to putting suction cups on the remaining window so the fairy lights could be hung in it.

“Fine, angel. I’ll be up here all alone being festive by myself. If you see it in your heart to not leave me to my own lonely devices, come join me.”

“All right, Crowley. Have a nice pout.”

Let him pout, thought the angel. He always believed learning a little patience would not hurt Crowley in the least. His impulsive behaviour was one of those character flaws he clung to even though they now had all the time in the world to develop their relationship. There was absolutely no reason he could not be patient for the bit of time it would take Aziraphale to string the lights, plug them in and make any needed adjustments.

He plugged in the strand — the outlet conveniently appearing in the wall just for these lights. Bringing them up the left side of the window, he strung them across the top, down the right side and over the bottom, adjusting as needed. There. Done. He stepped back to examine them, walking towards the door to look at both windows together then stepping outside to see how it looked as customers walked past the bookshop on their way to do their errands. Hopefully, it would attract a few more in as much as it went against his very grain to sell a book. One had to earn their way somehow when one was on their own. Piles of bestsellers sat on displays in the front of the store, a trap to keep people from wandering through the shelves full of volumes more precious to him than that mass-produced drivel.

“Well, that doesn’t look bad at all,” he said to himself as he gazed upon the warm white lights twinkling in the windows. The Christmas tree in the one added to the feel of the season as well, decorated with its own strands of white fairy lights and light blue babbles. Plus, he was quite proud of the candy cane wreaths he made earlier in the month to hang on the doors. Thinking it was a job well done, he returned inside, flipping the open sign to closed and turning off the lights in the entrance to discourage customers from trying the door once he locked it.

“All right, Crowley! I’m heading upstairs!”

Aziraphale made his way to the spiral staircase but heard no response from the upper floor.

While Aziraphale was busy downstairs decorating, Crowley was developing some ideas of his own upstairs. He eyed the canopied four-poster bed with its white gossamer curtains and blue swags that were so Aziraphale’s style and something the demon tolerated only out of love for his angel. Miracling his materials into existence, he worked quickly, thinking warm white the best colour for this project. It took some doing to weave anything into that gossamer material without disturbing the perfect drape Aziraphale had accomplished with his chosen bedroom decorations, but Crowley managed, even if it meant going a little slower. He paused once in a while, keeping an ear out for the echo of Aziraphale’s brogues on the metal steps. So far, he heard nothing, so continued with his project. The materials he conjured up were woven through the canopy on their nearly invisible wires, then wound around the iron bedposts themselves before Crowley stepped back to check it out.

The entire bedpost and canopy setup twinkled with hundreds of small lights like stars in the sky, the gauzy curtains adding an ethereal quality to it. He nodded with a smile, pleased at his work. Hopefully, Aziraphale would be just as pleased by it. Snapping his fingers, he extinguished the fairy lights and went to the living room to wait, stretching out on the couch with his mobile out as if he had been waiting there the entire time.

Finally, the dark wood door opened to admit Aziraphale and Crowley looked up from the news he was reading as if he had done nothing but head up here to pout.

“Have you finally calmed down, because I’m more in the mood for a glass of wine than anything.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe, but I’d like you to check out some redecorating I did in the bedroom.”

“Redecorating? Crowley, we agreed to not reorganise each other spaces. What have you done?”

Crowley led the way, snapping on the fairy lights as they entered the bedroom. Aziraphale came to a halt, his sky blue eyes lighting up with delight as he grasped Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley!”

“I thought you might want some Christmas cheer in the bedroom. Do you like it?”

“My dear, I adore it.”

Crowley ate up the appreciative kissing he was subjected to, wrapping his arms around his angel so Aziraphale could better reach him. Or him Aziraphale, as he returned each thankful kiss with a loving one of his own. It wasn’t long before they were kissing under those tiny electric stars, their warm light shining down upon the two beings who suddenly couldn’t get enough of caressing and kissing each other. Crowley smiled happily as Aziraphale nuzzled into his neck, pulling his shirt away, to better to leave many tender kisses on every exposed portion of skin. The demon would have patted himself on the back if he could have, but his hands were busy elsewhere. Yes, sometimes the way to the angel’s heart involved a few carefully placed fairy lights.


	15. The Myth of Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley knows way too much about mistletoe. Aziraphale would rather not hear about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mistletoe
> 
> Yes, this is rather short, but I just finished yet another round of antibiotics and still have a bad sinus infection. I feel like crap. I might take a couple of days off from writing because it's hard to concentrate with the headache I have right now.

Crowley, being taller, had helped Aziraphale put up some holly around the circle entrance off the small alcove inside the front doors of the bookshop, standing back hand-in-hand with him to inspect their work. Aziraphale cocked his head to one side as he examined it, taking in the look of the dark green shiny foliage against the dark grain of the wood. The bright red berries stood out. He nodded and turned an inquisitive gaze to Crowley. 

“Some fairy lights, you think?”

“Maybe. It does look very nice framing the doorway like that.”

“Yes, but the leaves of the holly are rather dark and so is the wood.”

“True.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, twinkling white fairy lights appearing scattered throughout the holly garland, illuminating the holly, making it stand out more against the wood’s darkness. Aziraphale took it in for a moment then nodded. 

“I do like that.” He pulled Crowley in closer to wrap an arm around his waist. “Thank you for your help, my dear. I do appreciate it very much. Are you finally getting into Christmas?”

“No.”

“We should hang some mistletoe in the centre.”

“That’s for kissing, angel. Do you want people potentially kissing under your archway?”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that. I just thought it would add something to the decorations.”

“Why humans think making out under a tree-killing parasite is romantic is beyond me.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at such a response but kissed his demon on the cheek anyway. 

“I’m glad to see you’re in such a positive mood.”

“Druids worshipped it.”

“Oh?” 

Aziraphale had moved further back in the bookshop where he placed the unused artificial holly garland back in the box he kept his Christmas decorations when they weren’t in use. That went on a shelf in the backroom to await January when all the decorations would be placed back in it until the next Christmas season. 

“But the Druids were always weird. They thought you could exorcise demons with it. I showed them otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less of you,” replied Aziraphale as he shoved the box on to a high shelf out of the way, then went to make some cocoa. “Want some?”

“Sure, thanks. The golden bough of Aeneas was mistletoe. It guided him through a dark forest and when the riverman on the River Styx saw it, both were immediately transported to the underworld. I don’t quite understand how that works.”

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale replied automatically as he prepared water for heating and wondered what had got into Crowley.

“The Norse god Balder was killed by a spear of mistletoe made by the god Loki.”

“Yes, well, I’ve read a few Nordic myths and Loki just strikes me as rather rude.” Aziraphale was now spooning cocoa into two cups of hot water and stirring it. “Whipped cream?”

“No, thanks. Balder’s funeral pyre was his ship which got stuck in the sand as it was launched. It was freed by a giantess who rode a wolf and used venomous snakes as reins. I wouldn’t stand for it, myself.” Crowley sat himself down at the backroom’s table. “I have more dignity than that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Aziraphale brought over the mugs, handing Crowley the one without whipped cream. “It is much more dignified to spend months sitting in an apple tree waiting for a human to come over so you can get them to eat some fruit they shouldn’t.”

“Hey, I had a job to do, same as you,” Crowley smiled mischievously before continuing. “People kiss under it because it somehow became a symbol of fertility. Maybe because one of the species you find over here has a rather phallic look to its branches. Even more so when there are berries on it.”

“Do you realise you have acquired the weirdest knowledge over the years, especially when it comes to plants?”

“Not all of us can sit around in old bookshops translating prophecies. I picked up a lot travelling around Europe causing problems.”

“And here I thought you avoided learning.”

“No, I pick up quite a bit, especially if it's interesting. Like learning mistletoe fruit is thought by many cultures to resemble semen,” said Crowley nastily in response to Aziraphale’s bastard attitude.

Sighing Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the two of them reappeared upstairs in the living room. Aziraphale was sitting primly on the couch, Crowley was seated beside him, looking rather surprised. Hanging from the ceiling above them was a sprig of mistletoe. Aziraphale smiled at it serenely. 

“Oh, look. Mistletoe. Now you’re going to have to kiss me.” 

He leaned over, aggressively kissing Crowley, shoving his tongue deep into the serpent’s mouth preventing him from spouting yet another fact about mistletoe again this evening. Crowley went boneless against him, melting into a puddle of goo as his brain stopped working and he could only his mouth to respond to such a loving onslaught. The only sound he made was the slight moans he produced when he became turned on, giving Aziraphale ideas. 

“What do you say we take this to the bedroom, my love? I can think of plenty of ways to keep your mind off mistletoe.”

Standing up, he took Crowley’s hand in his own and led him off to the bedroom where they engaged in some rituals of their own not remotely attached to plant myths. Aziraphale decided that a good, long blow job was the best way to keep Crowley's mouth too busy to spout random facts. The rest of the evening proved rather pleasant, indeed.


	16. Red, Silver and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a little surprise waiting for Aziraphale back at his flat that has the angel wondering if his demon is getting into the Christmas spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tree trimming

The next day, Crowley disappeared in the morning only to return in the afternoon to demand Aziraphale close up the bookshop and come with him over to his flat. Even when Aziraphale enquired as to why, no further explanation beyond “you need to come and see” was given. The angel sighed and asked Crowley to wait since the bookshop was full of customers. He could no longer afford to kick everyone out on a whim to go off on an adventure with his demon, no matter how excited Crowley was over his surprise.

Instead, he was forced to deal with Christmas shoppers and an overly active demon who would not simply sit on the couch entertaining himself on his mobile like usual. Crowley was pacing, fiddling with papers Aziraphale had left on the table in the backroom, restacking piles of books on a whim and generally being a pest. Aziraphale had finally had enough, shoving him out the door with some cash and instructions to go get them both some coffee at the café across the way. At least he would get fifteen or so minutes of peace.

“So,” he said, turning a smiling face to the customer waiting at the till. “What can I help you with?”

Those were hard enough words for a second-hand bookseller to say without a hyperactive demon bouncing around the place like a toddler on sugar. He sold a few more books meaning a few more bodies left the premises before Crowley strode back in with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Aziraphale with a grin.

“Mocha, just like you like.”

“Thank you, my dear. I think it’ll only be a half an hour more, and I’ll be able to close up.”

“I could get rid of them for you.”

“No. Please, no. They’re buying the new stuff I bought, not the old books I want to hang on to. This is good.”

The demon sunk to the couch with a sigh. “I really want you to see this.”

“Patience, Crowley.”

“Uhhhhhh!” He stomped off to the backroom like a petulant child while Aziraphale sighed with the tolerance of an angel, a requirement when dealing with a demon.

Aziraphale ignored the sounds of Crowley fidgeting for the next half-hour. Finally, the last customer walked out the door and Aziraphale locked them, turning off most of the lights. He headed to the backroom, that had suddenly become quiet to find Crowley standing in the dim light with a grin upon his face.

“Is it time?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go!”

“Half a moment! Let me get my coat on!”

Crowley about shoved him out the door then stuffed him in the Bentley, and they were off, tearing through the traffic in a manner that made Aziraphale silently send off a few prayers to Her while he nervously sweat in the passenger seat. Luckily, the trip from the bookshop to the flat was short — even shorter when Crowley was driving, meaning Aziraphale was soon unsticking his hand from where he had braced it against the roof of the Bentley. He hoped that he hadn’t left fingerprints behind. 

“Crowley, I can get out myself. Really . . . I can.” Aziraphale waved him off as he got out of the car.

But Crowley wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. He took Aziraphale by the arm and manhandled (angelhandled?) him in the door, to the lift, on and off the lift and down the hall to the flat. Aziraphale turned to him crossly upon arriving in the living room, arms folded across his chest, blue eyes snapping in annoyance. Crowley, still grinning like an idiot, pointed to the corner of the room from whence emitted a red glow.

“Is that a black tree?”

“Yes.”

“Decorated in red lights?”

“Yes.”

As much as he found Crowley’s choice of colours rather . . . well . . . demonic, Aziraphale couldn’t help but be pleased by the effort his partner had put into setting up a Christmas tree when he had resolutely stated on numerous occasions that he had better uses of his time than celebrating the holidays. Aziraphale’s face softened, and he turned to hug Crowley tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Oh, Crowley! It’s lovely. Why are there no decorations?”

Crowley walked over to the couch where several bags full of boxes sat on the grey leather cushions. He pulled out a box of red baubles, another of silver ones and a garland or two of red fabric. Across the chair next to the couch lay draped a red tree skirt. Aziraphale came over to inspect the boxes of baubles with Crowley, pulling out a silver one he could see a warped version of his own reflection in. 

“Can I help out put them on the tree?”

“Of course.”

Aziraphale smiled, taking the shining silver ball to the tree where he hung it on a branch around eye level. The red lights shone on it and the black tree branch reflected in its surface, making for a rather pretty miniature scene right there on the bauble’s surface. He smiled to think of Crowley setting up a tree and allowing him to help decorate it. 

“You could have gone with a green tree, you know, my dear.”

“It wouldn’t have matched my visual aesthetic here at all.” 

Crowley’s flat was large, shaped how he wanted it to be despite the fact that it wouldn’t have naturally fit into the building itself without a few demonic miracles and decorated in blacks, whites, greys and reds. The only green in his living space existed in the room filled with terrified houseplants that he yelled at less these days since he no longer had Hell breathing down his neck. Aziraphale still occasionally sneaked in there to give them some much-needed praise. Crowley hadn’t figured that out yet and never would as long as Aziraphale remained careful about it.

Aziraphale took a couple of more silver baubles to the tree to hang randomly on empty branches. Crowley had grabbed red ones to disperse among the silver, the two colours mingling against the backdrop of black for a rather dramatic but lovely appearance. Slowly, the two of them filled up the tree until there wasn’t a branch available to hold yet another bauble. Turning back to the decorating supplies on the couch, Aziraphale found Crowley holding out the garland. 

“I think it’ll take both of us to get this on correctly.”

“I think you’re right. But it will look lovely once we get it up.”

Starting at the top, Crowley wound it around the top most branches with Aziraphale following along behind shifting and straightening it so that it looked perfect. The two of them circled the tree — Crowley placing the garland, Aziraphale making sure it wasn’t in the way of any baubles and sat just right on the tree itself. Slowly it wrapped the tree, perfectly spaced, the loose end fitting along the back where it would not be seen. Crowley pushed the tree back into place and threw the tree skirt around the base. Stepping back, he smiled at Aziraphale.

“I’d almost be willing to put presents under it. Almost.” 

“I’d put one to you under it,” said Aziraphale, but Crowley ignored the comment.

“How’s it look?”

“Beautiful. What possessed you to put up a tree?”

“You,” replied Crowley as he walked to the bar in the corner to peruse the wine rack. “Something to drink? I really should put a fireplace in. I think I’d rather like the idea of snogging you in front of it on cold evenings. Red or white wine? I do have some nice red dessert wine if you’re interested. Or we could order dinner and match some wine to that.”

“Dinner does sound good. I found a nice Italian place that started doing takeaway just last week.”

“Italian will do. Got a number for that place?”

“Ummm . . . no. But it’s over on Great Windmill Street. Right near that lovely little café run by that nice older couple.”

Crowley eyed him. “Yeah, helpful.”

But he fished his mobile out of his pocket and made a few enquires to Google, finally coming up with a possible address and photo of the outside of the building. He showed it to Aziraphale who confirmed that it was the place. Pulling up a menu, Crowley sat down to look it over, Aziraphale joining him. Together they chose a romantic dinner for two, ordered it and some time later were enjoying it side-by-side in front of a roaring fireplace that wasn’t there an hour ago. It was a nice grey marble one that looked like it had always been a part of Crowley’s living room. 

Plates of delicious gourmet Italian food in front of them, a warm fire and a good bottle of wine really did complete the evening. Crowley enjoyed Aziraphale delighting in every bite of food he took, while Aziraphale appreciated the effort that went into the fireplace. Crowley had had to move some windows and his sound system to accommodate the newly miracled fireplace. Now, they cuddled under a blanket, wine glasses in hand, half full of one of Crowley’s better selections.

“I’m glad you came around and decided to put up a tree,” whispered Aziraphale.

“Shut up.”

“No, it was very nice of you to do something like that for me, and . . .”

He didn’t get to finish what he had to say. Crowley had pressed his mouth hard against his, giving him a rather romantic snog that also served to remind Aziraphale maybe some things were best left unsaid to a demon. Content, he wrapped his arms around Crowley in return, kissing him back with all the emotion he felt coming from the eternal love of his life. One of these days, he’d learn to just keep his mouth shut. Not even his loving demon wanted to be reminded about how soft he actually was. It was best to just enjoy it. And enjoy it is what Aziraphale planned on doing this wonderful night. 

He slid down under the blanket and unbuckled Crowley’s belt, undoing his trousers enough to take his cock out and begin to tease it. Sliding his tongue over it, he took it fully into his mouth and began to suck in earnest. Meanwhile, a hand caressed along Crowley’s inner thigh as he felt the demon’s hand slide into his hair to pet it lovingly while he pleasured him. Pleased, Aziraphale tongued over the head, licking all the areas Crowley loved to have licked. 

The burning logs in the fireplace popped as Crowley moaned and Aziraphale went back to sucking, settling into a rhythm that would make sure this lasted as long as both of them wanted. 

“Oh, _angel_ ,” Crowley murmured, stroking his long fingers over Aziraphale’s cheek.

He settled in to enjoy the blow job, his hand on Aziraphale’s head encouraging him, loving him back. His glass of wine he set aside before he spilt it before he laid his head against the couch cushion, allowing Aziraphale to slowly bring him to orgasm. Once he did, Crowley would cuddle him for a spell before happily returning the favour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, I put in a street name from London I know as a placeholder and forgot to replace it with one in Soho (I'd think Aziraphale would know all the good restaurants in his area) that would actually have restaurants along it. Sorry about that!


	17. Demonic Decorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you're the Serpent of Eden. Other times you're a Christmas tree. 
> 
> Now with an illustration by [Quefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/pseuds/Quefish)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Baubles
> 
> If this is full of typos I apologize. I've spent most of the day and night taking care of Pippin, my cat, who has an ear infection. He gets very clingy when he's sick and it's hard to get anything done when there's a cat rolling around on your keyboard. This fic isn't betaed because there just isn't time with me writing literally a chapter a day. So, if I can't properly proof it for typos, it's going to go out into the world with possible typos. Blame the cat. 😂

“We fell asleep on the couch again, didn’t we?” 

Crowley stretched out with a yawn, his bare leg breaking free of the blanket it was under. He looked over towards the fireplace, noting it was now only burning glowing red embers instead of the cheery flames of earlier when they were engaged in oral sex. Under his shoulder, Aziraphale stirred slightly with a small groan before becoming still again. Crowley poked him. 

“C’mon. We should go use the bed instead of curling up here. My ancient joints can only take so much any more.”

“Mmmm . . . your joints are fine, my dear.”

“You just don’t want to move, do you?”

Crowley eyed the several empty bottles of wine on the coffee table along with the remains of their meal and struggled to get off the couch. He could barely remember last night after they finished having sex and cuddling for a while drinking down those bottles of wine. When the heaven had they stopped bothering to sober up before falling asleep on each other? Was that laziness or were they just that comfortable in each other’s presence any more?

Crowley struggled to a standing position and looked down upon himself in shock. Then he looked at Aziraphale and back at his own body. It was wrapped up in a strand of lit fairy lights, apparently powered by a miracle, with red baubles hanging from the light strand itself. Leftover garland encircled his waist and was wrapped around his cock and balls. No wonder why he couldn’t sleep comfortably.

“Aziraphale?”

“Mmmm?”

“Wake up, angel. What did you do to me last night?”

“I gave you oral sex then we drank some wine.”

“Apparently we did more than drink through my good vintages. Get up.”

Crowley prodded Aziraphale harder this time and in the ribs where it would hurt just a bit more and have a better chance of getting his attention. The angel cried out in irritation but peered over the blanket he was wrapped in, one sky blue eye open and looking at Crowley. His other eye soon opened as well and the blanket slid down enough to allow him to sit up and inspect the decorated demon before him. Aziraphale broke out in peals of laughter, falling back against the couch arm he slept against. 

“Oh, my goodness. What did I do? Well, it looks like we had a good time after we became intoxicated. Hopefully, there are no pictures of it circulating the internet this time.”

Crowley looked panicked. In one fluid movement, he had snatched up his mobile and was seated on the couch with Aziraphale frantically checking his social media accounts. Sighing in relief, he tossed his device back on the side table, catching Aziraphale’s eye. The angel smirked at him, scooting over closer to leave a kiss on his cheek.

“Well, at least you don’t have to put out some widespread miracles to get rid of embarrassing photos this time.”

“We have really got to stop behaving like a couple of idiotic uni students left to their own devices.”

“Oh, Crowley, that’s not a fair generalisation. Most uni students are hard-working young adults.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, you did just insult them. Not all young people are immature or impetuous.”

“Never mind, angel.” Crowley wasn’t going to try to explain it to him. “I’m going to get this stuff off of me. I look . . . well . . . I look ridiculous.”

Aziraphale cuddled up close, his soft skin bumping against Crowley’s impromptu decorations. “I think you’re the most dashing Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.”

Crowley blushed as all the baubles and lights on him disappeared to appear back in their boxes over on the chair where they had been left yesterday. He would shove them on a shelf in a cupboard later today to prevent anything like this from happening again. Laying down, he gazed out upon the nearly expired fire.

“Well, if I _am_ a Christmas tree . . .”

Crowley reached for Aziraphale, grabbing a hold of him before dragging him on top of his hips, grinning up at him while Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look.

“. . . now I have an angel on top of me.”

“Crowley, that’s a bad joke, my dear.” But Aziraphale was laughing anyway.

He leaned forward to place a kiss on each of Crowley’s cheeks, then his nose and finally his lips. Crowley responded by brushing gentle hands through Aziraphale’s curly blond hair. 

“So, what’s today’s planned activity?”

“I thought about attempting to make a _bûche de Noël_. What do you think?”

“A Yule log? Don’t you just throw those in the fire?”

“No, Crowley, it’s a type of cake you serve around Christmastime that’s kind of like a Swiss roll.”

“Oh.” Crowley paused a moment, caressing along Aziraphale’s outer thigh. “Do I get to lick the extra icing off you?”

“Are you serious? Why does everything revolve around sex with you lately?”

“It’s fun.”

“Yes, but it’s not the end-all, be-all of human activities. We’re supposed to be doing festive things this month.”

“Licking icing from a Christmas-themed cake off an angel seems rather festive to me.”

Aziraphale sighed as he stood up. He put out a hand to help Crowley to his feet again and started walking towards the bedroom. Crowley followed, curious to see if there was some sexual entertainment awaiting him at the end of the hallway. Instead, Aziraphale rummaged through the wardrobe for a pair of boxers and some pyjamas, to Crowley’s extreme disappointment. Sighing, the demon threw on his usual pair of satin pyjama bottoms in black and got into bed to pout, dark grey duvet pulled up to his chin.

“We just had some fun, my dear, and I’m still rather exhausted. Let’s use the few hours of darkness we have left to get a little more sleep.” Aziraphale slid into the ridiculously large bed beside him, cuddling up to spoon against his back, soft and warm like an angel should be, even if said angel did have a bastard side. “But I’ll let you lick the extra icing off me if you’ll allow me a few more hours of rest.”

Sometimes bribery was the best way to get cooperation out of Crowley. This instance was no exception.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Turning his head at angles impossible for the human neck, Crowley gave Aziraphale one last kiss until they awoke later.

“Sounds like a good deal. Good night, angel.”

They snuggled into the soft warmth of the bed, slowly drifting off back to sleep, each experiencing their own dreams before the alarm woke them again around nine o’clock. Aziraphale had wonderful dreams filled with the festive merriment of the Christmas season. Next to him, Crowley dreamed of taking his angel right there on the kitchen floor after licking every last bit of icing off his body. 


	18. We'll Drink to Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley does not expect to bump into Aziraphale at an orchard wassailing. What's an angel doing at a festival with such Pagan roots?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Carolling
> 
> Also, if you're not aware, cider in England is alcoholic, unlike in the U.S., where the alcoholic stuff is termed "hard cider."

_Medieval Times_

_Wassail! Wassail! all over the town,_  
_Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown_  
_Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree_  
_With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee_

They were weaving their way through the apple orchard, singing to the dormant apple trees in a tradition that dated back centuries. Originally they sang and danced in the orchards to encourage the good spirits to bless the trees with a good harvest and send the bad spirits packing. Evil spirits did not thrive on merrymaking and drinking. It was thought they would slink back to the dark holes they came from.

Except one who rather appreciated a good party and chance to get drunk. He currently tagged along with the wassailers, dancing rather badly through the trees as the Queen of the Wassail hung cider-drenched pieces of toast on the bare branches of the trees while everyone sang at the top of their lungs. Occasionally one or two would leave the revelling to go warm themselves by the bonfire at the edge of the orchard and get themselves another cup of hot cider.

_So here is to Cherry and to his right cheek  
Pray God send our master a good piece of beef  
And a good piece of beef that we all may see  
With the wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee _

A young woman spun in a circle, bumping into him with a laugh. He smiled and steadied her so she wouldn’t fall into the nettles they were currently stepping around in a dance of avoidance. 

“Careful!” he called and went back to his own dancing, which would never have been described as graceful as the young maiden’s movements despite his own lithe form. He whirled around a tree, anyway, pondering going back for more cider.

_And here is to Dobbin and to his right eye_  
_Pray God send our master a good Christmas pie_  
_And a good Christmas pie that we may all see_  
_With the wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee_

His black garments made him hard to see and even harder when one was drunk, but he didn’t care. It was an excuse to drink and make merry. Besides, this was originally an old Pagan tradition, so he could justify his involvement by saying he was subverting the spreading influence of Christianity. Nobody checked that closely anyway as long as he appeared to be doing _something_. Head Office had never indicated that spreading foment had to be a serious endeavour.

He crashed into someone else and stumbled back in surprise as the person pushed him back instinctively to keep from being pulled over as he clawed at them to keep his balance.

_So here is to Broad May and to her broad horn_  
_May God send our master a good crop of corn_  
_And a good crop of corn that we may all see_  
_With the wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee_

The figure dressed in light beiges and blues blinked in shock at him, a stack of toast in their hand to give to the Queen when she needed more to place in the branches. “Crowley? What are you doing here?”

Crowley reeled in an attempt to gain his balance, his irritation at being shoved, even it was rather gentle, dissipating into a broad smile. “Angel! Fancy meeting you here at a Pagan festival.” Much emphasis was placed on the word _Pagan_.

_And here is to Fillpail and to her left ear  
Pray God send our master a happy new year  
And a happy new year as e'er he did see  
With the wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee  
_

Aziraphale fidgeted uncomfortably as dancers circled around the pair as they spoke. “Well, it is a time of merriment and God knows the peasants don’t get to reveal near enough the way it is.”

“Wanted to get good and drunk, didn’t you?” Crowley asked, knowing the truth.

_And here is to Colly and to her long tail_  
_Pray God send our master, he never may fail_  
_A bowl of strong beer, I pray you draw near_  
_And our jolly wassail, it's then you shall hear_

Even in the low light of the nearby bonfire, Crowley could see that Aziraphale was blushing. Demonic night vision did come in handy at times. The angel looked off to the side with guilt written all over his face. He shrugged as if frolicking among the trees to chase off bad spirits was approved angelic behaviour while Crowley thoroughly enjoyed his discomfort at getting caught.

“Yes . . . umm . . . well, it’s Christmastime and I do deserve an occasional day off, too.” 

_Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock  
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock  
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin  
For to let these jolly wassailers in_

The Wassail Queen passed by him, and he handed her the toast he was holding on to for her. She called out her thanks as she wheeled by, dancing off to the next tree that needed to be anointed. Aziraphale smiled and waved in reply before turning back to Crowley, who waited patiently for him to return to their conversation. 

“Yes. Yes, you do. It’s my opinion you should take more of them. All we do is cancel each other out, and it would be less work for both of us.” Crowley pinned him with a knowing stare, his arms crossed over his chest.

_Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best_  
_Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest_  
_But if you do draw us a bowl of the small_  
_Then down shall go butler, bowl and all_

“I’ll think about taking the rest of the Yule season off,” Aziraphale replied, a smile on his face that indicated he was already regretting this dereliction of duties he was proposing. “Consider it my gift to you. Happy Christmas, Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose up into the fringe of his bowl-like haircut. “A gift? From an angel to a demon? Do tell, Aziraphale. Are you starting to warm up to our friendship?”

_Wassail! Wassail! all over the town,_  
_Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown_  
_Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree_  
_With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee_

“Don’t you start thinking anything of it. You are a demon. I am an angel. We have nothing in common, my dear fellow.”

“Right. Right. I won’t.”

_Drink to thee, drink to thee,  
With the wassailing-bowl we'll drink to thee_

But Crowley smirked to himself and knew better. He’d keep his peace on it, though. Aziraphale would slowly have to come to his own senses over the passing eras.

Aziraphale turned, prepared to head back to the revelry when Crowley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He cocked a questioning eyebrow at the demon, who smiled in return with a shrug as he stared at toast-decorated apple trees in the flickering light of the bonfire.

_Drink to thee, drink to thee,_  
_With the wassailing-bowl we'll drink to thee!_

“I have some good cider put aside myself for a special occasion. You gave me a gift, how about I offer you a quality drink in return back at my place?”

Aziraphale agreed with a nod. Together, the two of them left the orchard and headed back to Crowley’s place in town to wassail privately in his kitchen, drinking and talking away the night until there was no more cider left to consume.

~*~*~

_Present-day_

The sound of carollers drifted up to them from the street below as they stood on Crowley’s balcony, Aziraphale cupping a mug of cocoa between his hands while Crowley enjoyed a tumbler of scotch. He had his free arm around his angel as they listened. Aziraphale looked at him, thinking of that time they literally crashed into each other at the wassailing back hundreds of years ago. He laughed to think of a demon drinking and dancing around apple trees to scare away evil spirits and encourage benevolent ones to stay.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Crowley asked.

“Mmm. I am just remembering that time we bumped into each other at that apple wassailing. I still chuckle to think you would ever attend one.”

“Eh. Good, harmless fun. I like a good excuse to drink. You should know that by now.” 

Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “Of course I do. Happy Christmas, my love.”

“Happy Christmas, angel.”

They became quiet again, listening once more to the sound of singing as the humans celebrated the season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apple wassailing was originally a Pagan tradition meant to ensure a good harvest and performed in the cider orchards of southern England. There are records of it still being performed in early modern times when it took place sometimes on Twelfth Night (the last night of the Twelve Days of Christmas) and sometimes on January 17th. By then it was probably more of an excuse to have a good time than anything since Christianity had become the dominant religion.
> 
> Eventually, it gave rise to the forerunner of carolling - house-to-house wassailing, where revellers would go door-to-door singing and offering a drink from their bowl of wassail (a type of cider) in return for gifts. "Gloucestershire Wassail", which I use in the fic is more of a carolling-type wassail song, but all the ones sung to trees were too short to weave into the story like I did. 
> 
> Since Crowley in the show mentions the lack of nightlife on the moon, it can be implied he might enjoy going out to do a little clubbing. This is probably as close as you're going to get to that in medieval times.


	19. Decisions, Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to choose a Christmas film to watch leads to bickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Christmas films

Aziraphale sat on the couch in front of Crowley’s high-end laptop a look of confusion crossing his face as he attempted to navigate the operating system. All those little pictures, and he couldn’t tell which one to click to get to the video streaming service. The touchpad was confusing as well. His reliable old machine had a nice mouse with a wire that did exactly what he asked of it. He couldn’t get his fingers to work this little sensitive portion of the keyboard correctly. It didn’t help that the silly thing did whatever it wanted when he accidentally laid his palm against it.

“Crowley!”

“What?” Crowley poked his head out of the plant room, a watering can in his hand.

“I can’t get this to work!” Aziraphale looked him up and down suspiciously. “You had better not be terrorising those poor plants.”

Crowley ignored that last statement. “Why do you need to?”

“I’m wanting to find us a nice Christmas film to watch.”

Crowley grimaced as he threw back his head dramatically. “No. No Christmas films. I draw the line at Christmas films. There’s a whole torture room in Hell devoted to them. Right next to the one devoted to whiny protest songs of the sixties.”

“But it’s the activity I planned for today.” Aziraphale looked up at him with sad blue eyes.

“Don’t you start with that pout. I’ll make you watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_.” Crowley grinned mischievously. “’Look, daddy, teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.’” He copied the child’s accent and tone to the best of his ability. It was enough to make Aziraphale wince. “Or is it ‘Every time that line’s quoted, an angel gets annoyed’?”

“At least one angel does. And I’m not watching it.” 

He clicked a few more buttons, making the laptop emit a shrill beep. Crowley appeared quickly, sliding on to the couch beside him and yanking the laptop away from the angel. “Give me that before you ruin it.” He made a few deft clicks and several windows with various streaming services Crowley had hacked into appeared. “Oh, _Die Hard_.”

“That is not remotely close to a Christmas film.”

“It takes place on Christmas.”

“No.”

“At an office Christmas party.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“The hero’s wife’s name is Holly. You don’t get much more festive than that.”

“Stop it.”

“The soundtrack has Christmas music in it. And I agree with the internet. It’s not Christmas until Hans Gruber falls from Nakatomi Plaza.”

“We’re not watching it.” Aziraphale perused the lists in front of him. “ _Miracle on 34th Street_?”

Crowley’s lip curled upwards in disdain. “Please.”

“Love Actually? I hear that one takes place around Christmas.”

Crowley squinted at the cast list. “Who’s in it? Let’s see . . . Liam Neeson. Spends a lot of time in other films killing people. Alan Rickman. Has been in some films where he’s killed people and fell off Nakatomi Plaza. Colin Firth. He killed quite a few people in _Kingsmen_. Andrew Lincoln. Killed zombies in _The Walking Dead_. Kiera Knightley. She might have killed someone or another in _Pirates of the Caribbean_ or that god-awful King Arthur film a few years ago. Martin Freeman. I think he kills at least one person in _Sherlock_ and probably quite a few more in _Black Panther_. Emma Thompson. I don’t think she’s been in roles involving killing people, but I loved her as Professor Trelawny in those Harry Potter films.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m just coming to the realisation that this film’s full of stars who kill people in other works.”

“Oh, good lord.” Aziraphale threw up his hands. “I give up. You are impossible. We’re not going to agree on anything.”

“I think we can agree on something.”

“What?”

“This.” 

Crowley took Aziraphale’s head in his hands, cupping it lovingly as he brought his lips close to the angel’s, placing them gently on Aziraphale’s mouth which had been drawn into a hard thin line. He felt it relax as Aziraphale returned the kiss, eagerly tasting Crowley and wanting more. Films, roles and actors were forgotten as they showered each other with love, arms wrapped around the other’s back in an embrace that pulled them closer together. Crowley licked at the inside of Aziraphale’s cheek as the angel moaned in response. His hand went up into Crowley’s hair, tangling itself in its locks, but Crowley never minded a little tugging. He thrust his tongue in deeper to encourage that kind of response and was pleased when he felt Aziraphale lightly pulling.

This was Christmas to him. Time with his angel, not some stupid film, silly decorations or kitchens filled with baked goods made only once a year. If he could only get Aziraphale to see what a gift that was to him after six thousand years of waiting, watching and pining. 

_Oh, angel . . ._

He hugged him tightly, slotting his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder and just breathing in the scent of him. He sighed, happy to remain right here for now in the arms of his beloved. 

“I don’t need to watch Christmas films, angel,” Crowley whispered. “I just need you.”

“But it’s the holidays.”

“And I have what I want. Let’s forget the film or spending such a nice day holed up here staring at the telly. It’s warmer out than it has been in a while.” Crowley stood up. “Get your coat, angel.”

“What are we doing?”

“We haven’t walked in the park for months. I think it’s time we did so again. C’mon, get your coat.”

Crowley was up grabbing his out of the cupboard he had thought into existence because the idea of a coat stand in his living room did not appeal to him. Such an item would throw off the entire decor. He grabbed Aziraphale’s while he was in there, tossing it to the angel. Crowley’s was a black peacoat of heavy wool while Aziraphale’s was a camel hair coat with a luxurious lining that would keep the coldest of persons warm. They pulled them on, Aziraphale donning his light blue beanie with a bobble on top. Crowley flicked it with a laugh.

“Oh, don’t you start that,” admonished Aziraphale as they headed down to the Bentley. 

“It’s just so tempting.”

“I know.”

Spirits high, they piled into the Bentley and made for the park. Crowley parked in his usual illegal place, getting out before Aziraphale and opening the door for him. Taking his arm, Crowley gave his beanie’s bobble one more playful bat, and they started off together towards the entrance of St. James’ Park. Strolling to the duck pond, Aziraphale conjured a bag of peas to feed them, happily tossing them in the water where the ducks and swans scooped them up greedily as the happy sounds of other park-goers floated towards them. Crowley smiled at him, keeping his arm threaded with Aziraphale’s. Yes, this little moment of happiness was so much better than sitting on the couch bickering over Christmas films. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I threw a little _Animaniacs_ Easter egg in there. The original '90s show, not the reboot. 😁


	20. The Christmas List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Aziraphale's plans backfire. This is one of those times. (Crude illustration included.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Christmas lists
> 
> 22 Dec -- I worked on another project I needed to catch up on instead of writing for this. It will return tomorrow!

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk writing out a list when Crowley decided to make an appearance, coming down the spiral staircase two at a time rather noisily. Looking up at the racket, the angel sighed and miracled away an inkblot on the page in front of him before rewriting the words that were ruined when he was startled into scratching the pen across the paper. It wasn’t much longer before he felt warm breath on the back of his neck and loving hands on his shoulders. A kiss was placed on his cheek.

“What are you up to, angel?”

“I am making a Christmas list.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “What’s that?”

“You really didn’t know that after all these years?” Aziraphale swivelled in his chair to look at Crowley. “I believe I know today’s activity.”

“You’re going to have me write down a list of things I like about Christmas or something?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale gathered paper and a pen, and guided him to the couch.

Pulling the small table in front of it closer after removing the pile of books that had built up over a week or so, Aziraphale placed the paper and pen on it. Crowley took up the pen in his left hand with a curious look towards his partner. 

“One of the traditions of Christmas is gift-giving. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course. Who do you think invented Black Friday?”

Aziraphale gave him a blank stare. “But that’s an American . . . never mind. You do have the strangest gaps in your knowledge, my dear. Anyway, moving on.” Aziraphale tapped the sheet of paper. “A Christmas list is just a list of things you would like to receive as gifts for Christmas. Sometimes children write letters to Father Christmas telling him they have been good this year and saying what they would like to receive for Christmas.”

“But I don’t want anything.”

“I’m sure you can think of something. When you’re done, we can exchange them, so we know what to get each other for Christmas.”

“But I don’t _want_ anything.”

“It doesn’t have to be a gift. It can be something I can do for you. Like make you breakfast in bed or water your plants.”

“You wouldn’t yell at them properly.”

“It’s only an example.”

Crowley nodded, bending over the paper with a look of concentration. Feeling pleased with himself, Aziraphale resumed his own list back at the desk, folding it neatly when he was finished before giving a little side glance towards the demon who was scribbling furiously on his piece of paper, not noticing that he was momentarily being watched. Satisfied he was able to get Crowley to cooperate with this, he slipped out of the office to the backroom to heat water for tea. He peeked around the corner to see Crowley was still hard at work and gave himself a figurative pat on the back in self-congratulations. He’d get a list to use to purchase Crowley a Christmas gift yet. 

Humming to himself, he poured the hot water into a cup, allowing the teabag there to steep for a few minutes while he stealthily checked Crowley’s progress again. The demon still had pen to paper, his sunglasses pushed up into his tousled red hair. Aziraphale smiled to himself. Returning to the cup of tea, he left it for another couple of minutes before miracling in the correct amount of sugar and milk. Satisfied he took it back out to the office and sat back down at his desk, setting the hot teacup out of the way off to the side.

“Here you go, angel.” 

Crowley thrust a folded piece of paper at him that Aziraphale eagerly took in one hand while his other felt around his cluttered desk for his old-fashioned reading glasses. Sliding them over his eyes, he gave Crowley his own list in return and excitedly opened the list he was handed. 

“Thank you, my dear. I’m sure this will be most . . . umm . . . helpful.” 

Aziraphale’s sky blue eyes widened behind his reading glasses. It was helpful but not in the manner Aziraphale expected. Crowley had given him a good look into the sex-obsessed lizard . . . no, scratch that . . . snake brain he possessed. On the paper was a list of all the different sexual positions Crowley wanted to try, a few immature sketches of what Aziraphale assumed were either toys or crude attempts to draw a penis and a couple he assumed were supposed to be vaginas because this was not the type of note one drew flowers on. Oh, good Lord . . . what kind of monster had he unleashed? This was not how it was supposed to go!

Aziraphale removed his unneeded reading glasses, slowly closing his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. “Are those supposed to be teeth on that one?”

“Yeah. Sorry, it all got away from me.”

“And these stick figures . . . are you providing diagrams of sexual positions?”

“You’re the one with the halo.”

“I gathered that.”

Aziraphale felt like laughing and crying simultaneously as he took in the crude _Kama Sutra_ of stick figures Crowley had provided him. He asked for this. He truly did ask for this. It was not the clever idea he thought it was to bring up that services could be gifted in lieu of physical items. He dropped his head into his hands, staring at the pile of papers and fountain pens scattered across his desk, not knowing what to think or say about this. For once, Aziraphale found himself without a response to Crowley’s antics and his mind was flailing around uselessly trying to come up with the right answer to the so-called Christmas list in front of him.

“What’s wrong, angel?” Crowley was well and truly confused by his reaction. “I did what you asked me to.”

Aziraphale finally sat up, clearing his throat as he gave Crowley a tight smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all. I just had to admire this . . . masterpiece you have given me. It’s just that . . . umm . . . you spelt ‘fellatio’ incorrectly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't draw, therefore Crowley can't, either. 😂 (I assume the back-to-back one in the corner requires a sex toy.)


	21. Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long ago, during a Winter Solstice ritual celebrating the rebirth of the sun, Aziraphale waits for Crowley, who also, in a way, needs to be reborn into this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Solstice

_Early in Britain’s History_

In the predawn darkness, a small white bird perched atop one of Stonehenge’s columns watching the priests start their ceremony that would welcome the sun back from the short days of winter. It was Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year; therefore, they were here at this sacred monument to perform the ceremony that would result in the rebirth of the sun. It was the lowest point of the year and represented all that had been given up in hopes of a future with a promised reward. It was their new year, the polar opposite of Summer Solstice. It could all be summed up in “Taliesin,” the fruit of the brow. The fruit was their future. Now, they welcomed the sun back hoping in a few months it would warm the Earth enough that planting could begin, and they could look forward to a summer of plenty. And hopefully, a winter that wasn’t overly sparse.

They watched the nights lengthen with dread until this day when they reminded the sun of its promise to humankind and welcomed it back. But this time, unknown to them, they were missing one spectator. Many milled around the sacred grounds, watching and participating, but this was the first time the small white bird, who had watched their rituals - whenever possible - since discovering this damp little island and new culture, watched alone. Normally he would have been accompanied by a black bird who would perch beside him wondering why humans needed such rituals, but his knowledge of the cosmos far outshone that of a species that had not yet embraced science. He knew the inner workings of the solar system and beyond long before humans figured it out.

It seemed a successful ceremony. The sun rose as it was supposed to and at sunset that night, it would set between two specific stones even though it appeared to stand still in the sky most of the day like it was dying. Those stones would be observed for the next two days, the people relieved when the setting sun moved northward, indicating that it had been reborn and soon would provide more light and warmth. It was all superstition to the white bird, but humans were fascinating, and he was going to be living among them, he had to learn their strange customs. The black bird, who helped hang the stars and other celestial bodies, described the two solstices as times when one or the other of the Earth’s axes was at its furthest point. It was the only time when he spoke of Before.

The wind blew cold and the small bird shivered without his companion, who usually showed up in raven form. Ravens were seen as messengers between the realms of the living and dead, thus nobody objected to one perching on the stones. In fact, they welcomed him, some telling him things to take to their relatives who had passed beyond. The raven liked being noticed because he enjoyed what little positive attention he received in this world. The white bird was ignored because that was what he wished. Fluffing up his feathers the best he could, he huddled there waiting for his companion. 

The ceremony finished up without sign of him and the white bird knew he was still awaiting his new body. Miserable, he waited while the humans dispersed, only flying down to the ground to transform to his human form when the area was finally clear. Wrapping his warm tartan cloak around him, he lingered, hoping before he snapped his fingers and returned to his own small home. A crunch of stiff grass caused him to turn around quickly, fearing that maybe some human had gone unnoticed, and he had just transformed in front of them. Instead, he gasped in delight.

Approaching him dressed in a tartan cloak of red and black with long wild red hair braided here and there in Celtic tradition, was his lost companion. His smile grew, stretching across his face at the joy he felt upon seeing him again. The last eleven months had proved extremely lonely without the strange companionship of his opposite. Quickly he walked towards him, keeping himself from breaking into an outright run. His companion was still a demon and the enemy, even if he did enjoy his company. He cried out his name and heard his own in response.

And they were upon each other, clapping shoulders in greeting, talking over each other as they tried to catch one another up on happenings while they were apart. And suddenly an uncontrollable urge came over the angel causing him to throw his arms around the demon, holding him tight despite the strong smell of sulphur in his hair. The demon seemed poised to question this strange turn of events — he had never been hugged by his angel friend before — but instead accepted it, embracing him in return and smelling the fresh morning air on his hair and clothing which was a vast improvement on the smell of brimstone that permeated Hell.

He was finally home. The loneliness both of them had experienced would no longer be an ache eating at their hearts. They needed each other much more than either could admit at this time in history. 

~*~*~

_Present-day_

Yesterday’s Christmas list debacle was forgotten. Aziraphale had managed to pry a few ideas out of Crowley that weren’t related to human mating rituals, deciding he was just going to have to be satisfied with that. Today, they had another tradition to attend to.

They were again up before dawn to watch the sun rise on Winter Solstice, this time on top of an old bookshop’s roof with a couple of mugs of hot tea rather than perched out on the windy tops of the rocky columns of Druid religious sites. Sitting comfortably nestled against each other, one rested with his head on the shoulder of the other. Angel and demon smiled at each other and took in the sun as it rose, bathing them in golden light. It was a beautiful experience. They had woken up together and been able to come here for the observance that had become their own little Winter Solstice ritual over the centuries without having to wait for the other to arrive. Or worry he might not rise from the dead in time for this special sunrise.


	22. Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale creates a Yule log for Crowley to burn. 
> 
> (Please note that this chapter will be moved to right before the Christmas Eve one. I fell behind but still wanted to do the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day prompts on their proper days, so this prompt got skipped until now. Reading it after the Christmas chapters won't hurt continuity as the chapters are only loosely connected.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Yule log

“I need a feather from your wings,” said Aziraphale as they sat in the bookshop, the angel awaiting customers, Crowley just because he needed something to do and hanging out with Aziraphale was preferable to any other activity he could think up.

“Why?” asked Crowley, thinking the request was rather weird. 

“I thought I’d make a Yule log. We need feathers to represent ourselves.”

“Okay . . . but I thought we were doing projects together.”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. “Well, we were, but not this time. I have to make the Yule log.”

“Why?”

“Well, it has to be gifted to the one who burns it, and you’re the one with the fireplace.”

Crowley blinked at him, sunglasses off as long as the bookshop was empty, and his uncovered eyes showing his confusion. “Sure, angel. But our feathers tend to be rather large. How are you going to attach one to a log?”

“A covert will do.”

Crowley waved a hand lazily and a feather half the length of his forearm appeared between his fingers. He handed it over to Aziraphale who thanked him for it before setting it aside on his desk. The demon shook his head before resuming his chosen activity, which was comparing to different single malt whiskies on his mobile. He needed a gift for Aziraphale for Christmas and the angel did appreciate a well-made single malt liquor. Finding one he liked, he conjured up a wrapped bottle in the Bentley where it would be hidden from Aziraphale, who was becoming increasingly fidgety as the hour wore on.

“Just close the shop.”

“You know I can do no such thing.”

“The rush came through before dinner. Close now while nobody’s around and just be done for the day. I can feel your nervous energy from here.”

The door clicked to the locked position and the shades pulled themselves down, leaving the shop dimmer in the dwindling afternoon light of winter. Aziraphale shot Crowley a cross look before going to flick the lights on. 

“That was uncalled-for.”

“I don’t see you reversing it.”

Aziraphale sighed as he went to his desk where he collapsed in a pout. Crowley simply eyed him with amusement.

“Go do your log. I can’t burn it if you never gift it to me.”

Aziraphale disappeared into the backroom. When it came time to leave, he came out carrying a long object hidden by a white sheet. Crowley knew it was the log, but kept his peace about it. Aziraphale kept it on his lap for the entirety of the trip to Crowley’s flat, which was a relief to Crowley, who had forgotten about the wrapped box containing the whisky for Aziraphale in the backseat. With a discreet hand motion, it disappeared to appear under the Christmas tree. 

The moment they stepped inside the door and Crowley shut it, Aziraphale handed to him. He laughed at the angel.

“You could let me get my coat off, at least.”

“Oh, sorry.” Aziraphale took it to the hearth where he left it while they stripped off their outerwear. He took Crowley’s hand as soon the demon shut the cupboard door, leading him to the fireplace, eyes sparkling. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Crowley picked up the log and carefully unwrapped it from the white cloth Aziraphale had wound around it. The log inside was roughly half a meter long and decorated simply with a red ribbon tied in an elaborate bow. A couple of short evergreen boughs were artistically tucked into the ribbon’s lengths along with two coverts — one black and one white. He smiled to see the care Aziraphale had put into his log and rewarded his efforts with a kiss, the log still nestled in his arms.

“It’s very nice. Are you sure you want to burn it?”

“Of course. That’s the tradition. The feathers are our representations and before you do burn it, it’s traditional to also write down your wishes for the new year on a piece of paper and slip them into the ribbon, too”

“Oh. Should we do that now or wait until later?”

“I was hoping to burn it now since the sun has set.”

Crowley pulled a pad of paper and two pens out of thin air, handing a pen to Aziraphale.

“Turn around.”

Aziraphale did as he asked, thinking the demon need to privacy to write down his wishes. Instead, he felt the pad of paper being pressed between his shoulder blades as Crowley used him as a writing surface. Sighing, he held still until he felt the paper removed. 

“Done.” 

Crowley folded up his paper and inserted it by his covert on the log before handing the pad to Aziraphale and turning around. Shrugging, the angel used him as a writing desk as well, copying out a couple of wishes in his neat copperplate writing before telling Crowley he was finished. Following Crowley’s example, he placed his folded piece of paper near his own feather. Crowley gave him a look, head cocked to one side as the fireplace came to life.

“Do we tell each other our wishes or is this like human birthdays, and you keep them to yourself?”

“Wishes are supposed to be kept secret, or they won’t come true,” said Aziraphale.

“Like you believe in wishes. Aren’t you beyond such silly human beliefs?”

“I just want us to try things out, so we can develop some traditions of our own. Just use these human ones as a jumping point.”

“If you wish, but we do have imaginations of our own.”

“Think of it as inspiration.”

Crowley carefully set the log in the fire, hoping that the smell of burning feathers wasn’t too strong. They stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand watching their feathers and wishes go up in flames, the smoke carrying them off into the cold skies of London. Maybe said wishes would come true. Maybe it was just human superstition like Crowley believed. Maybe this was all Aziraphale starting to settle down into life on Earth, _really_ starting to settle down after millennia of Heaven’s brainwashing. It had only been over a year now which was a very short time in their lifespans, but maybe he was casting around for something to cling to after his eyes were opened to what Heaven truly was. One did not get over what they had put him through overnight. His views, faith and beliefs had been shattered in an instant there on the tarmac of Tadfield’s airbase, if not by events occurring in the hours before the near-end of the world. Crowley felt a twinge of guilt about being resistant to his Christmas activities upon this realisation and moved his arm to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder, giving him a protective kiss on the top of his curly head. 

“It’s beautiful, angel. Just beautiful.”

Aziraphale looked at him, smiling that loving trusting smile that always melted Crowley’s heart. He understood now. Their dependence on each other had been laid bare, and sometimes Crowley would have to step up to support Aziraphale in this new adjustment he had to go through. Sometimes he'd have to take the lead and nudge him in the right direction, just as Aziraphale would have to do for him at times when he was casting about in his attempts to adjust. He suddenly realised what a big responsibility they had towards each other since they were on their own side, but he felt they were both up to it. The demon led his angel to the couch to sit where they could observe the fire while snuggling close. Encouraging Aziraphale to lay his head on his shoulder, Crowley gently stroked his hair. Maybe, just maybe he could over time convince the angel that everything he needed was right here in the one being who had always believed in him. 


	23. A Good Deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale donates some collected scarves and hats to humans who will give them to people who need them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mittens/gloves/scarves

Aziraphale hadn’t opened the shop the following morning upon their arrival, choosing instead to spend his time digging through a large box with a sign on it that had been out in the bookshop for most of the month. Crowley hadn’t paid it much attention, given how often large boxes with shipping labels on them were often left sitting around while Aziraphale tried to figure out where to shelve his new acquisitions. Two hundred years, and he was starting to run out of space. Crowley had joked once that maybe it was a good thing he was actually serious about selling them now, earning himself a reproachful look in response. He had kept silent about such matters ever since.

“Those don’t look like books.” Crowley leaned against the doorway with a mug of coffee watching him. “What are you up to?”

Aziraphale transferred a couple of pairs of gloves to one of the smaller boxes he was sorting items into. “I put a box out to collect mittens, gloves, scarves and the like for children who have to go without this winter.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Aziraphale’s posture stiffened as he placed a scarf in another box. “Just because Heaven doesn’t want to associate with me any more doesn’t mean I can’t do good deeds.”

“No. No, not at all.” Crowley didn’t intend to put Aziraphale on the defensive. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Who doesn’t want to help out kids?”

Crowley walked over to the table to inspect a tiny pair of mittens that looked like they’d only fit a baby. Aziraphale kept up his sorting, glad to see the people of Soho were so willing to help out the less fortunate. His box was almost overflowing with all kind of warm coverings for children from hats to gloves to scarves. Some even looked home-made. 

“Does that mean you’ll help me take this all to the church that’s handing out warm clothes?” asked Aziraphale. “I was thinking that could be your good deed for the day.”

“No activity planned? And you know I’ll have to wait in the Bentley.”

“I’ll let you off the hook because you helped with my good deed.”

Crowley was rummaging through the donations, tossing hats into the correct box while Aziraphale folded up a scarf to stick in its proper place. He smiled at his angel as he ran his slim hand over the soft fleece. 

“I could always take you out of lunch. My treat.”

“I wouldn’t object to that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

They make quick work of the sorting and took all the boxes out of the Bentley, placing them in the backseat. Climbing in, Crowley got an address from Aziraphale and started the car. It was only a short jaunt halfway across the city to the place, a lovely old stone church that even Crowley admired the architecture of along with the upkeep that must go into keeping it a well-preserved example of centuries long gone. He remembered that style came about in the seventeenth century — a stretch of time he didn’t care too much for even if it wasn’t as bloody dull as the fourteenth. At least they had sorted out the Pope thing by then. It was always annoying when more than one of them were running around excommunicating each other while claiming to be the real Pope. 

Aziraphale had gone inside to let them know he had come with a donation and came back out with some member of the clergy or other, Crowley didn’t exactly make it a point to study the whole hierarchy that went with being a priest, vicar, deacon, preacher, whatever they called those guys who led everyone in prayer. Crowley got out to open the doors and get the boxes out so that the Bentley didn’t get accidentally scratched up by some stranger not being careful enough around the glossy paint job. 

“Really, I can take them in myself. It’s no trouble at all.” 

Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale trotting along behind an older balding man dressed in a black shirt with a Roman collar, who came out to grab a box while Aziraphale carried in the other two stacked on each other. The clergyman cast a look at Crowley as he picked up his box.

“You’re not going to . . . oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see your broken arm there.” The accusing tones directed at the demon faded away to be replaced by glazed eyes that saw exactly what Crowley wanted them to see — an arm wrapped in a sling with a cast visible around his hand. “My apologies. Get well soon.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t chastise him for the deception later as he knew how necessary it was. He had had to heal his poor demon’s burned feet back in 1941, and it wasn’t something he looked forward to ever doing again. It was then he realised what Crowley had risked saving him from those Nazi spies, thus he would not expect him to risk anything further by walking into a church again, even if it was only with a box of clothing. He followed the vicar in with a smile back at his partner.

“I won’t be long!”

“Take your time!”

Crowley got back inside where the warmth was and turned the key enough to power the Blaupunkt. Sliding in a CD, he closed his eyes as he listened to some Mozart, the soothing melody washing over him. Sometimes a sonata or two was preferable to the rock tones of Queen, no matter how much of a musical marvel Bohemian Rhapsody was. He stroked the steering wheel as he did, the leather covering it feeling as soft and supple as it did when he first sat in the driver’s seat and laid his hands on it.

“Let’s just keep it Mozart for now. Later we can play some Traveling Wilburrys. You like that band, and it doesn’t always have to be Queen.”

The stereo crackled. That was going to be the extent of any sort of answer he’d get. 

Outside the windscreen a boy not yet a teenager ran by followed by several more boys of his own age. Shoving the lone boy over the group circled him, keeping him pinned where he was as Crowley observed the situation. He couldn’t make out what they were saying to him, but one of the bullies pulled the scarf from the boy’s neck, tearing a hole in it in the process. Crowley was quickly out of the Bentley before things turned violent. He might have been a demon, but that did not mean he wished for children to terrorise each other. 

“Hey!” he shouted. “Give it back and get out of here!”

He didn’t need to put any force of his demonic essence behind it; being adult-shaped was enough to cause the group to flee. Crowley held out a hand to the youngster on the pavement who was not hurt in the altercation. The kid had picked up his scarf off the ground, poking his finger through it.

“My mum’s going to kill me for ruining this. Brand new this year.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear it. You all right, otherwise?”

“Yeah, fine.”

The boy continued to fiddle with the scarf which was a lighter red than the one Crowley was wearing. Noticing that, the demon unwrapped his and shoved it at him, the kid looking surprised that some random guy was giving him a piece of clothing to replace the something that got ruined. It wasn’t the guy’s fault there were bullies everywhere making your life miserable whenever they could. He eyed it then his own scarf and thought the just maybe he could pass it off as his. Did mothers pay close attention to the actual shade of colours?

“Uh, thanks.” 

Crowley held out a business card, one of the ones he had had printed up for Aziraphale’s bookshop. Now that the angel was depending on it for income, Crowley would hand out the card in the rare instances he found himself in the position to talk about rare books. His name appeared in handwritten writing on the back just as he handed it to the boy, who took it suspiciously.

“My name’s on the back. Have your mother call me there at the shop if she doesn’t believe I scared off those other boys and gave you my scarf.”

“Okay. Thanks for the help.”

The boy took off and Crowley got back in the Bentley, not bothering to look towards the church. If he had, he would have seen one angel standing in the entrance peering out a side window watching the scene while beaming ear to ear with pride. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will eventually be Ch 23 when I get every prompt written and sorted, but since the chapters are loosely connected and the only plot running through the piece is activities done at holidays, being out of order doesn't really matter.


	24. The Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale spend Christmas Eve in front of the fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Christmas Eve

“Crowley?”

“Hmmm?”

“It’s rather blustery out there,” replied Aziraphale as he listened to the wind blow through the fireplace’s chimney.

“We’re in London in December,” replied Crowley. 

They were seated in front of the couch on the floor, backs against it as they sipped cocoa. In front of them was a white fuzzy rug that Crowley had plans for later if he could get one angel to cooperate. He slithered closer, banishing his empty cup to the kitchen. Aziraphale reached over to kiss him long and lovingly as the fire crackled in front of them.

“Normally we don’t get blizzards here. Is this your doing?”

“Why do you always suspect me of such things?”

“Because I’ve only known you for the last six thousand years.”

“I wanted the perfect night for a fire.”

“We don’t need a blizzard to use the fireplace.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, indulge me a little, angel.”

“You’ve completely inconvenienced London, Crowley.”

“It’s not the first time.” Crowley reached up to start undoing Aziraphale’s bowtie. “You’re wearing too much.”

“Aren’t we supposed to wait until tomorrow to open our presents?”

“I wouldn’t mind rewrapping and opening you again.”

“Insatiable serpent.”

Still, Aziraphale was not making one move to stop Crowley from removing his waistcoat and moving to unbutton his shirt. He peeled it back, revealing Aziraphale’s soft warm chest that was just begging to be kissed. Crowley obliged, travelling north to south along its softness, covering from the hollow of his throat down over his ample belly. He could hear the moan Aziraphale produced, feeling pleased with himself that it was his actions that caused such a reaction in the angel. He kissed across Aziraphale’s stomach now, as it was one of many areas on the angel that deserved worship. Stopping for a moment, he turned his head to lay against it feeling how wonderfully plush Aziraphale’s human-like body could be. 

Aziraphale reached over to stroke his hair and Crowley could have almost fallen asleep right there between the gentle petting and the warmth. Everything about this scene was a reminder that he was safe here, that Hell and Heaven were no longer a concern. He could pause a moment to appreciate the peace and the companionship. It would just be a moment . . . The popping of a log on the fire brought him out of his reverie. Lifting his head, he continued his worship until he was nearly frenzied, licking and nibbling along Aziraphale’s abdomen while the angel stroked his hair.

He yanked down Aziraphale’s trousers to tease out his cock, kissing around it, biting at Aziraphale’s thick thighs until the angel cried out in lust. Crowley felt the frustrated tug on his hair and the feeling of wanting to up their game flooded him as well. His long tongue took a swipe at Aziraphale’s balls, making his partner whimper.

“I want you, angel.”

It was only a matter of time before Aziraphale was on his back on that rug, not a stitch of clothing on him. Crowley, equally bereft of shirt and trousers, was straddling him and enjoying the view of one beautiful angel sunk into the plushest rug in existence, the light blond hair on his head just a couple of shades off from the pure white of the rug itself. Crowley was in awe.

“Hey there.”

“Hello, yourself.”

Tenderly, the demon pleasured his angel in front of the roaring fire. He marvelled at the light of the flames flickering across his skin as his fingers caressed him. He loved the feel of his softness beneath his slim hand as he made sure every area of Aziraphale’s body received attention. In return, Aziraphale scratched the sensitive area along Crowley’s back where his wings manifested as he pressed himself against the demon’s chest the best he could. Kisses were exchanged, from the gentlest to the more aggressive ones that bordered on bites. All the while Crowley moved within Aziraphale in the most loving of ways as the storm outside howled around them. 

Crowley nipped at Aziraphale’s collarbones, the angel moaning in delight at the sensation of Crowley’s teeth pinching his skin, the wetness of his tongue as he licked the reddening spot. The touch enhanced the feel of Crowley’s cock sliding in and out, the feel of his skin rubbing against Aziraphale’s inner thighs he thrust, erogenous zones in their own right. Crowley was putting on quite a performance, but it wasn’t just for Aziraphale’s pleasure. Crowley was an emotional vampire, getting off on any reaction Aziraphale made from the sexy little wiggles to the moans and groans he made. The more he pleasured Aziraphale, the more he pleasured himself — a closed loop of ecstasy existing between the two.

It was a beautiful sight to both of them — Crowley enjoyed the look of absolute pleasure on Aziraphale’s face. He was gorgeous and Crowley reached out to caress his cheek, watching those sky blue eyes open to gaze lovingly at Crowley, making contact with his golden-yellow eyes. Eyes he only allowed one other being to look upon without a covering of dark glasses. He didn’t know it, but their colour was enhanced by the flickering of the fire before them. Aziraphale would tell him later how otherworldly it made him appear. 

Aziraphale dug into Crowley’s back, meaning the inevitable occurred — Crowley involuntarily let loose his wings. He could feel their glossy black feathers unfurl across the room as he nibbled at Aziraphale’s neck, listening to his moans change from ones of pleasure to ones that ones of surprise, their tone pitching up as he watched Crowley’s wings emerge before turning into outright laughter.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. Oh!”

Crowley had started flapping, his wingbeats helping with his thrusting, pushing him further and harder into Aziraphale until the angel could no longer hold back. 

“I’m going to climax, Crowley!”

He could see the smirk on the demon’s face then watched as his eyes rolled up into his head for a moment as he came before Aziraphale, wings beating gracefully, all dark sheen in the light of the fireplace. Then Aziraphale was overwhelmed by his own desire reaching its tipping point and everything not associated with the erotic feelings that washed over him as he cried out, clinging to Crowley hard enough to leave scratches. The demon wouldn’t mind. He’d merely heal them away sometime later without a word to Aziraphale about it as he would not ever embarrass the angel about his sexual behaviours, especially the involuntary ones. 

“Go, Aziraphale. Come for me.”

He felt one last hard thrust as Crowley finished up his own orgasm, and Aziraphale had completely reached the point of no return, writhing against his partner who had gone completely still and taken the angel’s cock in his hand as encouragement. Aziraphale thrust roughly up into Crowley’s hand, his hips lifting completely off the plush rug he lay upon, his cum finally dribbling out at first before becoming a stronger stream that coated Crowley’s fingers, as he trembled with the emotional and physical cost of it all, his body falling back onto the rug with a soft thump.

“There you go,” Crowley soothed, combing a miracled-clean hand through his hair as he lay down beside him on the rug, nuzzling in close for as long as they both needed to recover.

They lay for quite some time listening to the crackle of the burning wood and the howling of the wind outside as the blizzard raged on. Aziraphale traced circles on Crowley’s chest, soft lazy touch after the activity of half an hour earlier. 

“When will the blizzard stop?” he asked Crowley.

“I don’t know. I just created the perfect conditions. It’s out of my hands after that.”

“Oh, Crowley. You really should put a stop to it so that clean-up can start tomorrow.”

“It’ll blow itself out by then. I don’t have the strength to do a thing about it right now. I’m busy.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Of course I am. I’m sitting here before a fireplace making sure you’re properly pampered on Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, I see that now. Carry on, then. I’m sure a blizzard once in a while won’t cause too much chaos. I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.”

And Aziraphale laid back to enjoy the continued attention bestowed on him by his partner, closing his eyes as Crowley stroked his hair. To be fair, Aziraphale pampered Crowley right back with soft kisses and gentle touches. One always had to mind the care and feeding of one’s demon.


	25. Eight Tiny Reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale dreams about being the big guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Santa
> 
> These will probably come every other day now because I have other projects I really need to get working on -- two events (one not published yet, the other my Cast the Stone, Create the Ripple fic for OTP Prompts), two zine pieces (can't say anything more about those), and I've started the ball rolling on my own zine. (I don't know if I can give information out about that here on AO3. You can find me on Tumblr if you're curious.) I've also got actual _work_ work to do and my Anthony in Love piece I'm trying not to fall behind on since we've hit the climax of the story. I'll get these done, I promise. It just will take some time!

In the early morning hours before dawn, they lay together before the fireplace, which was still merrily burning, awakening to the sound of a particularly powerful gust of wind. It startled Aziraphale out of a sound sleep there on the mattress Crowley conjured up so they could rest before the warmth of the fire as the storm outside calmed. Crowley had rolled over at some point away from Aziraphale. Realising he had scooted away sometime in the night, he pulled himself closer to Aziraphale, cuddling up close to him. 

“Just the wind, angel,” he whispered, wrapping long bare arms around his partner and pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did Father Christmas come?” Aziraphale murmured.

“Are you serious? He doesn’t exist.”

“He doesn’t?” Aziraphale stared at him blankly. “We’re going to have to deliver the presents, then.”

“You’re babbling, angel. Go back to sleep.”

Aziraphale snuggled back into the covers Crowley was readjusting over them, blinking heavily. Crowley petted his hair in slow rhythmic strokes until he fell back asleep then settled in for a longer nap himself. 

~*~*~

_Aziraphale looked down at himself and realised he was wearing a red suit. Reaching up, he felt the red hat on his head, closed his eyes and prayed he didn’t have the beard as well. Feeling his face, he found it was a rather fake one held in place by a piece of elastic. Well, that was a relief. He never did go in for facial hair. The mutton chops back in the Victorian era were it for him and those were rather annoying after a few years. If you wanted a good goatee or moustache or anything, that was Crowley’s department. All right, “good” was subjective . . ._

_He took stock of his surroundings, finding he was sitting in a sleigh in a wintry landscape with nothing around him but the snowy ground and the team of reindeer attached to the sleigh. His heart filled with fear as he realised he was alone with a sleigh of presents to deliver. Aziraphale clutched the reins nervously._

_“Crowley?” he called into the darkness._

_“Yes, angel?”_

_“Where are you? I can’t see you.”_

_“I’m up here,” came the irritated reply. “In front of the sled.”_

_One of the lead reindeer turned its head and Aziraphale noticed it was markedly different from all the other reindeer. For starters, its fur colour wasn’t anywhere close to normal, being black with a red underbelly. Second, it didn’t have the usual brown eyes with horizontal pupils, but golden-yellow with vertical ones. Even the antlers were black. Aziraphale tried not to laugh._

_“I’m so sorry, my dear boy.”_

_“Girl.”_

_“Girl?”_

_“You’re the knowledgeable one. You should know that only female reindeer and castrated males retain their antlers through winter. The only reason_ I _know that is because it’s_ your _dream,” replied Crowley dryly. “And I’m certainly not a castrated male because if you made me a castrated male, angel, so help me . . . I’ll never talk to you again.”_

_“I’m sure I wouldn’t dream of making you a castrated male, my dear.” At least Aziraphale hoped he wouldn’t. “Now, I think we need to figure out what to do here.”_

_“Deliver the gifts, angel. That’s what we’re supposed to do.”_

_“But I don’t even have a list,” Aziraphale wailed. One appeared in his gloved hands. “Oh, never mind. It’s right here.”_

_“You should be the reindeer,” muttered Crowley._

_“It’s my dream, so I get the starring role.”_

_Crowley snorted, a very odd noise coming out of those large nostrils she currently had. “Can we get on with this, angel? It’s humiliating enough without drawing it out even longer.”_

_“It’s a dream, Crowley. You’re not going to remember this when I wake up because you’re not real here. You exist outside the dream.”_

_“Are you trying to give me an existential crisis here?”_

_“Come along. We have gifts to deliver.”_

_“You got addresses?”_

_“I have names.”_

_“Oh, that so helps.” Crowley dragged a hoof through the snow in front of her._

_“Listen, I’m just as in the dark about this as you are.” Aziraphale paused for a moment. “The reindeer always know where they’re going. I’m going to think of the first name on the list here, maybe you’ll pick up on it and can take us there.”_

_“Because that’s me . . . Anthony J. Crowley, demonic reindeer taxi service. Wait . . . no . . . Antonia would be more appropriate, I guess.”_

_“Ok, I’m thinking of the first name on the list.” Aziraphale thought hard enough to give himself a headache before waiting a moment. “Anything?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_“Just fly then. Maybe it works when we’re in the air?”_

_Crowley started forward, but the seven others simply stood there not moving, meaning she was able to take a grand total of one step before she could go no further. Irritated she turned back towards Aziraphale._

_“Shake the reins or something. They’re not going to take instructions from me, apparently.”_

_Tentatively, Aziraphale did, getting no response._

_“There’s a head harness that goes around the reindeer’s ears. Give it a good hard shake because I felt nothing. You have to be forceful enough it gets noticed by them.”_

_Aziraphale shook the lines more violently, and they were moving at a trot, then a gallop, then off the ground entirely while Aziraphale looked over the side of the sleigh in amazement as they gained height. Meanwhile, Crowley was at the front of the pack of reindeer straining against the harness while yelling at Aziraphale that she would be more comfortable with this whole situation if she had wings. Aziraphale agreed; if the reindeer came with pairs of wings it would be a lot more reassuring for both of them._

_They reached a height where it was easy to see rooftops, as a town full of houses appeared soon after they hit flight speed. One lit up to Aziraphale as they flew, the light coming from it acting like a large arrow flashing above it to indicate this was the place to go, along with the feeling they needed to land there. He called out to Crowley._

_“Head for that green one directly to your right!”_

_“Yeah, I see it! It’s all lit up like it’s daylight!”_

_Swerving a little hard for Aziraphale’s liking, Crowley turned the reindeer, heading for the house. The angel clung to the large bag of toys in the sleigh, praying he didn’t fall out of it for he had no idea if he had wings in this dream. They hit the roof with a rather large amount of turbulence, much to Aziraphale’s discomfort. He could hear Crowley cursing as they finally came to a stop right before she tumbled over the edge, snow piled in front of her hooves._

_“That’s cutting it a little close, isn’t it?” asked Aziraphale as he pulled a gift or two out of the large bag and stuffed them in a smaller one._

_“I don’t want to hear it since I’m the one who nearly fell off the blasted roof!”_

_But Aziraphale had already moved on, looking blankly around for the chimney and wondering what he was going to do if any fire down in the house wasn’t quenched. Well, there was a chimney and from the looks of it, there wasn’t a fire roaring in the fireplace below. He peered down it, wondering if he just jumped in or what. Or was it easier to land the sleigh in the front garden and go in through the door? He hesitated longer than Crowley’s patience lasted, unfortunately._

_“Just get down that chimney! I don’t have all night!”_

_“I’m going! I’m going!”_

_Not sure how Father Christmas did it, he threw the bag down first, hearing it hit with a thud. Worried he might have broken something, he bent over to stare down the large column-like structure but didn’t see the bag. He leaned just a bit further, not thinking about things like “balance” and “tipping points” before he found himself tumbling head first down the chimney, clawing at the brick sides in a vain attempt to slow himself down._

_“Crowley! Help!”_

_He slid to a halt, hearing the sounds of Crowley laughing very close by echoing through the inside of the chimney. Flailing his arms, he tried to get purchase enough on the brick to get himself backed up and out of the chimney. He could tell he wasn’t fully in the chimney from the cold breeze blowing across his lower half. Aziraphale could almost imagine how that looked to Crowley, who had not stopped laughing yet._

_“Are you going to get me out?” he demanded._

_“I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying this even if I am just a figment of your imagination. Besides, I don’t have hands.”_

_“Stop it, Crowley. You do have the ability to shape-shift.”_

_“I do in the waking world. I don’t know about here.” There was a beat where nothing but the wind could be heard. “I have an idea, but you won’t like it.”_

_Aziraphale felt four legs settle on his bottom._

_“Oh, not. Crowley, don’t you dare.”_

_“Brace yourself.”_

_Aziraphale cried out as hooves landed on his well-padded bottom, the pain of Crowley’s surprisingly heavy reindeer body landing on it shooting through him. If this was real life rather than a dream, he imagined Crowley would be having a wonderfully sadistic time unsticking him from the chimney. Aziraphale cried out as he was hit again by four very well-placed hooves. Crowley’s chuckles reached his ears as he squirmed in protest._

_“Really, my dear. There has to be a better way of going about this.”_

_Aziraphale’s pride stung as much as his bum did._

_“It’s your dream. Wish yourself down, angel.”_

_But Crowley couldn’t resist one final chance to bounce herself off Aziraphale’s exposed backside and jumped one last time. She hit with a thud that loosened Aziraphale just enough he started sliding downward slowly enough for Crowley to step off then he picked up speed until he crashed, arms protecting his face, into a pile of logs ready to be lit come morning. At least he wasn’t seriously hurt, but this was his imagination at work. It wouldn’t allow him to seriously injure himself, even if this wasn’t reality._

_Ego hurt more than anything else, Aziraphale crawled out on to the hearth where he noticed a plate containing a mince pie with a glass of sherry beside it. His eyes lit up upon seeing it, realising English children left such goodies out for Father Christmas as a snack on his travels. Licking his lips, Aziraphale picked up the glass of sherry first, thinking he needed a bit of alcohol after all he had gone through. Once he had that, he would enjoy the mince pie._

_Drinking down the sherry rather quickly rather than savouring it, he let out a happy sigh, savouring it for a moment while staring at the delicious pie before him. His mouth watered just thinking about eating it. Aziraphale reached out a perfectly manicured hand to grab the treat. Bringing it up to his lips, he opened his mouth for that first delectable bite and . . ._

Aziraphale sat up, the fire crackling, Crowley was sleeping beside him although the sun was rising through the balcony windows. The black Christmas tree with its red ornaments and lights shone in the corner, a couple of presents under it. The angel groaned, falling back on his pillow and bouncing the entire mattress on which they lay. Crowley opened one sleepy eye.

“What’s up, angel? That was quite the frustrated noise you just made.”

“I dreamt that I was Father Christmas. I had just slid down the chimney and was about to eat the most wonderful looking mince pie when I woke up.”

“C’mere.” Crowley gathered him up in his arms, pulling Aziraphale over so his head was pillowed on his chest. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you had eaten it, it was still just a dream with no actual pie.”

“You do have a point,” said Aziraphale mournfully, stroking his hand along Crowley’s arm. “But it still would have been a nice dream.”

“Nicer than actually eating one?” 

Crowley opened his hand to reveal the small mince pie he was holding to Aziraphale, who smiled lovingly at him. With thanks, he took it, offering a bite to his partner before taking one himself. Crowley shook his head.

“It’s yours. Never liked the things, myself. Just don’t get crumbs on the bed.” Crowley yawned. “Tell me more about this dream.”

“Well, not only did I dream I was Father Christmas, I dreamt you were a reindeer, too,” said Aziraphale as he sat propped up by a few pillows munching his mince pie.

“Excuse me?” said Crowley, pulling himself up on his elbow to look Aziraphale in the eye better. “You what?”

Feeling a sudden overwhelming bout of self-consciousness, Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh as his cheeks turned a rather lovely shade of pink. “I . . . dreamt you were a . . . reindeer? It’s really nothing you want to hear about. Very boring, indeed. Just a dream about sleighs and chimneys and mince pies.”

Crowley shifted his position, placing his chin in both his hands as he lay on his stomach, an eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile crossing his lips. “Why don’t you try me, angel?”

His angel just gave him a smile before taking the last bite of mince pie. At least it would give him a chance to think quickly about how exactly he was going to word this dream. Those involving one’s partner as a reindeer should probably just be kept to oneself, he decided, a little too late.


	26. No Time Like the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter on Aziraphale and Crowley's gifts to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gift exchange

Aziraphale came in from the dining room to sit primly upon the couch next to Crowley, who gave him a kiss on the cheek. The wrapped box containing the whisky appeared in his hand. He set it upon Aziraphale’s lap as he cupped his head in his hands, bringing himself closer to Aziraphale to taste his lips and the sweetness of the tea still left on them.

“Happy Christmas, angel.”

“Happy Christmas, Crowley and thank you.”

Aziraphale was careful about opening his gift, lifting off the tape at the seams so gently he didn’t even rip the laminated wrapping paper Crowley had miracled around the box. Smoothing the paper out on the cushion beside him, he commented on how lovely it was before folding it up and finally get around to examining his present. Lifting the bottle out of its box, he examined the batch with a smile, letting Crowley know that he did well. Sky blue eyes smiled their appreciation at him, and he received a long kiss with his “thank you”.

“You picked the perfect one, my dear. I cannot wait to sample it later.”

A sense of false modesty washed over Crowley, who shrugged. “I thought you might like it.”

“This is yours.”

Aziraphale plopped into his lap the large red box with such excitement that Crowley nearly dropped the entire thing on the floor. Quick reflexes kept it from hitting to Crowley’s relief, and he tipped up on its side to reach for the seam. Ripping the paper off with a devil-may-care attitude, he wadded it up, tossing it on the floor to collect and throw in the bin later. The box lid joined it, allowing him to peer in at the black leather jacket inside. He inhaled deeply, taking in the wonderful scent of the leather.

“Angel, you didn’t have to.”

“You said you’ve been wanting one since you misplaced the one you wore in the fifties. It’s too bad it took more effort than a Christmas list to get that out of you.” Aziraphale fixed him with a stern glance. “Are you going to try it on?”

Crowley started to shrug into it when Aziraphale stopped him, his cheeks bright with a blush not caused by the heat of the fireplace. Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering was going through the angel’s mind.

“I was thinking you could try it on wearing nothing but your pants.”

Crowley grinned in response, knowing exactly where this was going to lead. He pulled his shirt off then reached down to unbutton his trousers.

“Well, if that’s what you want . . .” he said, suspecting that maybe they were going to try out some of the suggestions on his Christmas list.


	27. Of Not-Fruitcakes and Forgotten Customers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale attempts to get Crowley to try a type of Italian sweet bread. That is not like fruitcake. Or so he keeps saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fruitcake

The voices drifted out from the backroom as the man browsed through the books in the philosophy section trying to decide if he should treat himself to a late Christmas gift and which of two rare books he should buy for this gift. Both were rather nice copies, not too foxed and priced at about what he would expect for their condition. They sat on a table stacked with books where he could carefully look them over without damaging them further by touching them. But the bickering was very distracting.

“It looks like fruitcake to me and I despise fruitcake. For how long? Ever since someone had the nerve to invent it, that’s how long! Yet you conveniently forget that little fact every year.” The voice spoke with the self-assured tone of one who had taken irritation to an art form.

“I always thought it was something your lot came up with. It seems like just the thing to make the humans more miserable.” This voice sounded fussy, and like it belonged to someone who had put up with the first voice’s annoyances for years.

The man blinked, wondering why these two male voices were speaking as if they weren’t part of humanity and had been around since about the 1400s when fruitcake started to become popular. This had to be some kind of joke between them. He was distracted from his decision-making process by a third possible book.

“No, they did that to themselves. What a waste of good brandy. Honestly.”

“And this isn’t fruitcake. It’s a sweet bread.”

“Looks like fruitcake to me.”

“Well, it’s not. It’s panettone. It’s Italian. It’s good.”

“A rose by any other name, angel.”

 _Panettone for tea_ , thought the customer. _Interesting._

“It’s sweet bread with raisins, candied oranges and lemon peel. Bakers in Milan would be offended you called it fruitcake.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“They give it as gifts over there, and it’s not just considered a gift. It’s considered an act steeped in tradition.”

“And I consider this a history lesson I didn’t request.”

“You eat it with prosecco.”

“Oh, champagne’s embarrassing younger sibling. That makes it all better.”

“Considering what I’ve watched you put in your body over the years, you have no right to turn your nose up at prosecco.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That if it keeps you drunk, you’re more than happy to consume it, my dear.”

“I’ve never touched moonshine.”

“Only because you haven’t been in America since you pushed boxes of tea into Boston Harbour.”

The man put the third book down, thinking this joke had gone way too far. What were the employees here trying to pull? He marched up to the till.

“There. I tried it.”

“What do you think?”

“It takes like . . . a yeasty fruitcake. Cultural lesson over. I’m breaking out the scotch to salvage this tea.”

Reaching the till he rang the bell he found beside the old-fashioned machine he assumed was the cash box. Did this place do any business?

“Oh, for Hell’s sake. I thought you checked for stray people before you locked the door.”

A man in his late forties to early fifties dressed like an old-fashioned English professor with a white-blond mass of curls on top of his head came out, looking surprised. He seemed rather put out by the customer’s presence. Coming out from behind the counter, he escorted the man to the door in a rather flustered manner.

“We’re closed! You shouldn’t be here.”

“But . . .”

“It’s tea time, so bookshops are not the place to be. There’s a nice café down the street that serves a wonderful sponge cake. If you’re still interested in buying a rare book, I hear there’s a nice second-hand bookshop over in Piccadilly who would love to sell you one. I occasionally read the twitterings of one of their employees on that silly website with the bird logo. Seems a nice young man. I’m sure he’d love to help you. Good day!”

And the man found himself politely pushed out the door while wondering what he had just experienced. Shaking his head in confusion, he thought it might not be a bad idea to go find the nearest pub and break out the scotch himself. He pulled himself together before he started down the pavement, allowing the flow of the crowd to take him away from the bookshop.

Inside, Aziraphale clicked the lock into place again with a relieved sigh. He looked up to find Crowley standing beside the till leaning casually on the wall across from it with a smirk on his face as he cleaned his dark glasses on his shirt in a manner more casual than his lean. 

“Well,” he drawled. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t decide to have sex.”

Aziraphale, taking on his best martyr expression, rolled his eyes heavenward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know, the bookshop mentioned by Aziraphale is a hat tip to Sotheran's, whose Twitter account kindly puts up with a lot from the fandom, including an epic piece of trolling that can be found [here](https://twitter.com/Sotherans/status/1339974308379168775) if you haven't read it.


	28. Some Things Never Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale makes cute snowmen out of pom-poms. Crowley . . . not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snowman

The groan was loud enough for Aziraphale to hear it from the spiral staircase, halfway up, as he descended with some strips of red fabric in his hand. It was apparent that Crowley had found the craft box out and ready to be used before Aziraphale had had a chance to persuade him to at least try today’s activity, which wasn’t so bad. It would take them less than an hour, probably much less since Aziraphale wasn’t the best at gauging how long some human activities required. Plastering a smile on his face, he walked into the room to find Crowley poking around in the plastic box Aziraphale had purchased last year to keep his crafting materials in. He had picked up some more hobbies now that he didn’t have assignments to worry about.

“I was going to make some snowmen today to put on the counter or in the window if you would like to join me.”

“It doesn’t snow in London.” Crowley picked up a vial of glitter with a grin. “I wrote to Hell claiming to have invented this. Have you used any yet? You can never completely get rid of it. It’s easier to pack up and move than get every speck of glitter out of your house.”

“I can just miracle it away, therefore I don’t believe it will be a problem. And it does snow in London. You seem to have already forgotten your blizzard.”

“You know what I meant. Not _snow_ snow. White stuff falls from the sky and turns into sloppy mush once it hits the pavement around here.” 

Aziraphale set down the fabric, which he intended to use for scarves then pulled different-sized pom-poms out of the box along with glue and thin wire covered with some kind of orange fuzz. Crowley pulled on out of the package to bend and twist into funny shapes.

“What are these?”

“Pipe cleaners. They’ll do for carrot noses.”

“I wouldn’t clean a pipe with that.”

“They make this kind for crafts. I’m pretty sure the ones used to clean actual pipes are not this colourful. Now, do you want to help or are you just here for conversational purposes?”

Crowley wound the pipe cleaner around one index finger, the bright orange thing looking a lot like an exotic worm inching its way along. He examined it, turning his hand this way and that with a look of mild interest. Even the silly inventions of humanity caught his eye once in a while. Unwinding it, he gave Aziraphale a thoughtful look.

“Clever. Making something bendable and thin like that to actually fit in a pipe. Anyway, you start, and I’ll decide after I see what this takes.”

Aziraphale took a seat and grabbed the largest size of pom-pom. Taking up the next biggest size, he glued them together before setting them aside. Reaching for a small plastic bag full of colourful foam shapes, he took out several — two black circles and three larger blue ones. Dotting glue on the back of them, these became the snowman’s eyes and buttons. He sat back, rather proud of himself for having got this far. This was an entirely new experience for him which he was enjoying immensely. Next, he tried to fashion a black top hat for his snowman out of black and red felt, but it took several tries of cutting a square to curl into a cylinder and the right-sized circle for the brim. Getting it right after several times of trying different sizes out on the snowman’s head, he glued a thin strip of red felt around the base and stuck the entire felt top hat to its head. Next was the pipe cleaner nose followed by a long piece of the red fabric he had brought downstairs for the scarf.

“There! What do you think?”

“It’s so adorable I want to throw up.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad one?”

“I’m not sure. It’s too cutesy for my demon taste buds, how about that?”

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised in question. “So, I take it you’re not going to make one?”

“I will. I guess. Got any of this in white?” He tapped the black felt.

Aziraphale took some out from the bottom of the craft box and handed to him, wondering what sort of awful creation Crowley was cooking up in his mind. 

“Scissors, please.”

Reluctantly, the angel handed them over. “Let’s not get too grotesque, all right?”

“Just do your little fuzzy ball snowman thing.”

While Aziraphale made his first creation a companion, Crowley cut out a wiggly oval. Setting it down, he fished out two black circles from the foam shapes followed by three slightly larger green circles, then changed his mind and put them back.

“A pen might be easier. Got any of those felt tip markers?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t.”

Crowley miracled a pack of his own up, taking out the black one before pausing. After a moment, he took up the white felt again and cut a couple of circles. Stacking them on top of one another for height, he glued them slightly off-centre on his blob of felt. Only then did he use the black felt tip pen to make some dots on his creation, followed by a small piece of orange pipe cleaner. And a couple of small sticks he conjured up from somewhere. A bit of red fabric was added as well.

Aziraphale looked at it with a raised eyebrow after he finished up his second snowman. 

“Really? A melted snowman? What is the matter with you?”

“Hey, I thought it was creative.”

“It’s kind of macabre, don’t you think?”

“Snowball’s chance in Hell.”

“I think snow would survive. It was quite chilly down there and most of the demons were wearing coats.”

“It used to be hot before they decided an office environment was more in keeping with the times. And in human office environments, someone’s always complaining about how cold the building is.”

Crowley picked up his masterpiece and grinned. He liked it, no matter what Aziraphale thought. It probably wouldn’t win itself a place out in the bookshop with Aziraphale’s cute little fuzzy ones, but that didn’t matter to him. The angel should be happy he actually got involved with something like this. Demons didn’t do crafts. Or so he told himself, despite doing just that.

“I do not understand your sense of humour sometimes,” said Aziraphale.

But he picked up both finished snowmen to take the till where he set them down in front of the antique contraption. Stepping back, Aziraphale looked at them with a broad smile. Maybe Crowley did have a weird sense of humour. Maybe this wasn’t what Aziraphale had intended to occur. Yet the two different interpretations did look very adorable sitting there together ready to greet customers tomorrow morning, and at least Crowley hadn’t made something pornographic. 

Across the room, Crowley did his best to hide the proud smile that crossed his face. There were some things Aziraphale didn’t need to know.


	29. Other Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley helps Aziraphale take down the holiday decorations in the bookshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Silver and Gold

Crowley worked on the garland, pulling it down off the round edges of the entrance into the bookshop while Aziraphale took one last look at the lovely silver and gold theme of the holiday decorations until next year. Having got his fill, for now, he got on with removing each silver and gold bauble from the tree and carefully packing them back in their boxes. Christmas would come again, he and Crowley had made sure of it, and it would be a brighter celebration every year now that he had someone he could openly celebrate it with. But it was time to move on to the new year’s promise of new adventures, hopefully of the enjoyable type since they had had by now more than their fill of the not-so-enjoyable ones. 

He sighed anyway as he lifted another gold bauble down, putting it into the little indent in the cardboard tray the pack of baubles came in. Maybe he should “undecorate” the way Crowley did, by waving his hands and making everything vanish back into its boxes to be stored away until needed again. Nah. There was something about doing it by hand. Aziraphale continued to remove silver bauble after gold. Off to his right, Crowley had got all the garland down, along with the white fairy lights, and was wrapping both up to be put away until next year in Aziraphale’s tiny storage area at the back of the bookshop. 

“How’s it coming?’

Aziraphale turned at the sound of Crowley’s voice, smiling as he untangled a hook from a bit of fairy light wiring. How did that happen?

“It’s good. You can help if you want, or I can do it myself.”

“I’ll get the lights in the windows down. We won’t be bumping into each other then.”

Crowley walked over to the large display window to the right of the front door to take down and wrap those lights as well. Aziraphale didn’t mind. He had no patience for winding lights back up, but for some reason, the tedious chore didn’t bother Crowley one bit. The angel didn’t always understand what made the demon tick, but he reckoned that’s what helped keep their relationship going. It would become dull very quickly if both of them were able to completely figure each other out. Where was the mystery in that?

“What would you say about a short holiday?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale peered over at the demon, who was partially entangled in the lights he was removing from their suction cup hooks. He looked very much like he was being attacked by sentient plant vines as silly as that image was. If anything, sentient vines would either have the sense to fear him or learn very quickly that they should be very very afraid. Aziraphale shook his head at the absurd notion of Crowley fighting off evil attacking vines, even if it was one that made him snort out a rather quiet giggle. That would be an interesting old-time horror film to see — one intrepid demon going to stop the mad scientist who invented sentient houseplants only to have to fight his way into the scientist’s lab by terrorising them into submission. Aziraphale pulled himself back from his silly thoughts.

“A holiday? But what about the bookshop?”

“What about it? It’ll keep.” Crowley saw Aziraphale about to open his mouth. “You don’t need the money from running it. I can take care of any shortcomings since I’ve invested my infernal wages pretty well all these years.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms, his facial expression turning dark. “Are you suggesting that I don’t practice financial responsibility?”

“Not at all, angel. I’m suggesting you never expected that you’d be in a position where you wouldn’t be receiving celestial paycheques. Also, you always got paid. Hell would find reasons to dock my salary, so I learned how to invest. And opened up a whole new world of temptations along the way, but that’s another story entirely.”

“I’m sorry. I never realised they punished you in that manner.” Aziraphale blushed, ducking his head as he closed up a full box of baubles.

“Don’t worry about it.” Crowley was beside him, reaching out to clasp the angel’s hands in his. “You always find January a letdown after the holidays. Let’s plan a little trip somewhere. We could leave after New Year’s.”

“Sure. That sounds like a wonderful idea, Crowley. Let’s finish up here, then we can start brainstorming ideas over tea. I did nip out to get the most marvellous Victorian sponge cake while you were napping earlier.”

And that was exactly what they did. First, they finished up getting all the Christmas decorations put away, making Aziraphale a little sad over the holiday season coming to an end. Next, Aziraphale served tea at the table in the backroom where they bent over Crowley’s mobile looking at warm destinations as they ate cake — sometimes off each other’s plates. They decided that maybe it was time to return to the States and that a trip to Hawaii wouldn’t come amiss after this cold weather. Maybe they would extend their holiday and visit the mainland as well. Take in some of the old sights from years ago when they had been on assignment there and see some of the new ones. Either way, it would be time together — that was more important than their destination and more precious than silver and gold.


	30. The Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley ponders keeping the fireplace he conjured up earlier this month. Aziraphale gives him a reason not to get rid of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fireplace
> 
> And I'm finally done! I apologize for being so long on this one, but an EDS flare-up has made it hard for me to write lately.

This was it, December thirtieth. The last day before New Year’s Eve, making it the last day Aziraphale would attempt to smother him in holiday spirit. Tomorrow Crowley would surprise him with champagne and a view of the New Year’s Eve fireworks that no human would get. There were perks to being a demon. He smiled to himself as he cleaned up stray Christmas decorations Aziraphale had placed around the flat. They would all go in a box in a cupboard he just might wish into existence in his maze of a flat that met his expectations. It had expanded over the years to the point it would no longer physically fit in the building without a little demonic help. 

He stopped before the fireplace he conjured up for Aziraphale and the plush faux fur rug before it, on which he had fucked the angel quite thoroughly a few times over the month. Should he keep it or vanish it until they wished for a fireplace again? His thoughts were interrupted by Aziraphale, who had come back from getting sushi. Crowley would have driven him, but Aziraphale said he needed a little time alone to unwind after a trying day at the bookshop. Respecting that, Crowley left him to do his thing, but made sure a taxi was waiting outside the flat when Aziraphale was ready to go.

The front door opened and shut, getting Crowley’s attention. 

“Angel? You still look irritated. Anything I can do?”

“Strip and get on that rug,” Aziraphale snapped as the fireplace roared to life. “We’re going to have sex . . . if you want to, that is. I wouldn’t presume, of course.” He blushed, his entire demeanour had softened.

“I am capable of saying no, you know.” Crowley was already pulling his grey shirt off and throwing it aside. There was something sexy about an aggressive Aziraphale. “But I’m not opposed to this proposition of yours. What are you going to do to me?”

Aziraphale was up against him in a flash, pinning him to the windows overlooking London’s most expensive neighbourhoods, his hips pressing Crowley’s against the chilly glass. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat and Aziraphale watched his face go from a look of surprise to one of desire. Smiling innocently, the angel nipped at an available ear, taking the lobe between his teeth to nibble in a tease before stopping to place careful licks on Crowley’s tattoo, then back to sucking his earlobe until the demon cried out from feelings of desire and his fingers dug into the angel’s neck.

“How’s that?”

“I think I like it.”

“Incorrigible demon.”

His collarbones were bitten next, then licked tenderly before Aziraphale settled into kissing them along those prominent bones followed by sucking just at the bend where Crowley’s neck met them while the demon squirmed with a yelp. That was one of his more sensitive areas above the waist, and he enjoyed when Aziraphale chose to linger there, giving it extra attention. If he parked those luscious lips there all day, Crowley wouldn’t complain. He’d heal away the soreness if it arose and allow Aziraphale to worship his collarbones until they both became bored with it. He was in his own version of Heaven right now.

“Stay there forever?”

“Don’t you want more, my dear?”

“No. Fine. Just fine. Oh!”

He started writhing again as Aziraphale planted his tongue in exactly the right spot and licked aggressively before nibbling away. Crowley tried to concentrate enough to loosen Aziraphale’s bowtie with one hand. Ha! Got it! The strip of fabric fluttered down to their feet. There wasn’t much else he could do but caress Aziraphale in return now. Their bodies were firmly pressed against each other, Aziraphale’s velvet waistcoat brushing soft against Crowley’s abdomen, teasing him something terrible.

“Oh my Guh . . . ‘Ziraphale!”

He knew this what Aziraphale wanted — he was quickly approaching incoherence. Then he would be completely undressed and laid down so Aziraphale could take him as he pleased, Crowley all but begging for it. And he was right because a moment later, the glass was cold against his arse, his trousers and pants gone. Aziraphale’s waistcoat was off, his shirt unbuttoned partway and his lower half bare from waist to the tops of his socks with their tartan pattern that matched his bowtie. The heat in the room rose. Oh, someone . . . Crowley was going to explode if he didn’t get more soon after this strip down.

He was almost manhandled to the rug, laid on it so his entire left side felt the heat from the fireplace’s flames while his front half was exposed to the warmth of Aziraphale’s body. His neck was rather cold after all the attention it received, and now it lay exposed to the cooler air after being in contact with Aziraphale’s lips with their kissing. And sucking. And biting.

His nipples were attacked next and Aziraphale showed them no mercy. One after another they were rubbed, pinched lightly and nibbled until Crowley was sure it was enough to make him come. He felt a hand squeeze at one, digging painfully into his chest muscles in a delightful manner. He grabbed a handful of Aziraphale’s back in response.

“Breasts. Now,” the angel demanded. “Goodness, you have no meat on your bones. It’s a wonder you don’t give me a paper cut you’re so thin.”

“Never complained before,” gasped Crowley.

“I’m not complaining now. Just an observation, dear boy. You’re perfect, but I’d like some breasts to play with for a change.”

What Aziraphale wanted, Aziraphale got. Breast tissue bloomed into existence between his fingers as he kneaded at Crowley’s chest, giving him something more substantial to play with as he massaged, paying close attention to Crowley’s nipples. His hands might have been busy on the flesh, but his palms were deliberately brushing against the nipples. Crowley always had sensitive nipples that brought both of them a lot of pleasure. Tonight was no exception. Circling his palms, Aziraphale felt the nubs beneath them, heard Crowley’s moans and felt not only those little nubs become harder, but the shaft between Crowley’s legs as well. 

“Want you, angel.”

“Mmm, in a minute.”

He licked and nibbled more, turning each nipple a bright red the pulled back to look at his handiwork. Below him lay one panting, nearly wrecked demon who was ripe for the taking. Aziraphale smiled and miracled up lube on his fingers. Hooking them up towards Crowley’s bellybutton, he stroked away, his partner writhing beneath him as he clung awkwardly to his arm, one of the few places he could easily touch right now. Realising how much Crowley needed the touch, Aziraphale rested his other hand on Crowley’s warm inner thigh. 

“There you go, love. It’s been a while since we’ve done it this way. Does it work for you?”

Crowley nodded as he moaned.

“That’s good. You’re doing so well. I’m proud of you.”

He kept on stroking as he spoke, lavishing Crowley with praise as he brought him closer to orgasm. He swore he could almost feel the fluid that would be spilt rush out. Deep inside, Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s tenseness and knew he was close. By now, he had two fingers in him by now, rubbing away at the strongest examples of erogenous zones that Crowley possessed. The demon sweat beneath him, face contorted with his passion. He bucked, hips rising as he begged to come with unintelligible syllables. Pleased with himself, Aziraphale stroked inside him faster, his free hand seeking out Crowley’s cock to hold it as they finished up. It was too much and Crowley came all over his hand within minutes. He lay still now, his breathing coming in ragged gasps.

“I’m here, my dear. Just let me clean things up, and we can cuddle for a while.”

Soon, Aziraphale was by his head, petting his hair and curling up close around Crowley’s exhausted body. The demon felt contented now. He rested for a few minutes in pure bliss before miracling away the dampness left by perspiration. His hair was now back to perfect to satisfy his vanity. Closing his eyes, he tangled himself up with his partner, enjoying the softness of the rug and heat from the fire as he came down from that wonderful orgasm he had just been given. Yep, an aggressive Aziraphale could be a wonderful thing.

He spoke up after they had laid there for about ten minutes. “What about you, angel?”

“I was just about to suggest a nice blow job. What do you think?”

“I think I’m willing right now to give you anything you want.”

Crowley crawled up in between Aziraphale’s legs to take his cock in his mouth and the passion continued as the fireplace crackled merrily. 


	31. Toasting the New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two who have been here since the beginning watch the London New Year's fireworks from the London Eye.
> 
> (Please note I'm done rearranging chapters, so newest chapter is 30)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Champagne

_Rome, 45 B.C._

“So, the new year started today?” asked Crowley, confused as they sat with a jug of passable red wine, Aziraphale happily munching on some delicacy Crowley had forgotten the name of.

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“The humans tired of having to reset things on the lunar cycle. The Egyptians have been using a solar calendar for years now, and it keeps better time. You don’t have to keep adjusting so much to keep the seasonal year and calendric synchronised.”

“Seemed fine to me.”

Crowley didn’t pay much attention to the day of the week, let alone the month or season they were in. If it was cooler out, he’d break out a warm cloak. If it was hot, he’d switch out wool for linen. All he was aware of was that time passed. But such was the life of a demon on Earth. He had no need to plant crops at the right time for optimal harvests or make sure he slaughtered enough livestock, ensuring the salted meat saw him through the cold months. He had no birthday to keep track of, nor was he even sure how old he was since he came into existence well before someone decided to push the “Start Time” button. Election cycles didn’t concern him unless Hell forced him to pay attention to politics. All-in-all measuring the passage of time did not matter to him. It happened. End of story.

Aziraphale took a delicate bite of his meal while Crowley hunched in front of his cup of wine, eyeing the half-full jug on the table. There was no use explaining his views to him as Aziraphale lived in the same world he did — measured time really had no meaning for him, either. Crowley would have been preaching to the angelic Choir.

“The new year will always fall on January first now instead of being all over the place, depending on the lunar cycle. Certain months will only happen in spring. Same with the other seasons. It’ll be easier to set political office terms and elections,” replied Aziraphale in an attempt to show his own knowledge on the subject. “Adjusting will still be needed, of course. I don’t know why those angels who built the rock ball that God created the Earth out of didn’t follow the blueprints better. We make one revolution around the sun every 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes and 45 seconds. That’s just sloppy work. This means the new calendar’s going to include an extra day every three years to keep everything in line and . . . “

“Happy New Year and calendar, Aziraphale. Now shut up and eat your dinner because I’d like to get out of here before the parties all start. I’m sure there will be one or two good ones I can crash.”

With a huff, Aziraphale turned back to his entrée and didn’t speak to Crowley for a while. Crowley, who didn’t need a lecture on the inner workings of the cosmos he helped build, went back to drinking his wine. By his own quick calculations, the new calendar Julius Caesar was implementing was going to run into some trouble of its own. There were way too many leap days. Smirking behind his cup at his hidden knowledge, he let Aziraphale go on thinking he wasn’t knowledgeable in the ways of the universe. For now. There would have to be another new calendar system. Maybe he would decide to show up the angel when that finally was introduced.

~*~*~

_Present-day_

The London Eye should have been empty this night as fireworks exploded over it, but the rules never truly applied to one of them, and the other was learning to relax his stance on them as long as it wasn’t hurting anyone to do so. They sat in one of the pods watching as the colourful blasts flew over bursting out like fiery flowers over theirs heads, mere metres away in some cases. Aziraphale watched them with shining eyes, his mouth curled up in a smile as he enjoyed the celebration. Beside him Crowley sipped champagne from a flute, the rest of the bottle sitting a silver-plated chiller set out of the way on the bench. Aziraphale’s was held forgotten in his hand as he watched the surrounding spectacle. 

“It’s gorgeous!” the angel breathed in awe, looking towards the demon, who was looking at him. He blushed to discover this. “Aren’t you going to watch the display, my dear?”

“Eh. I have more beautiful things to look at,” Crowley replied. 

“You old serpent.”

His arms were flung around Crowley, the forgotten flute of champagne slopping its contents all over Crowley’s woollen pea coat and running down between his collar and his bare skin, making him growl with the sudden unwelcome feeling of cold liquid against sensitive parts. With a quick apology, Aziraphale miracled everything dry, adding kisses to his adoration of his demon as extra penance for not remembering he was holding a glass of his favourite bubbly wine. Crowley shrugged it off but enjoyed the love all the same.

“Here. Put that thing down, angel.”

He took the flute from Aziraphale, the colours of the fireworks shining on its surface for the brief span of their lives, setting it on the bench beside the chiller. Drawing Aziraphale into his lap, he loosened his camel hair coat buttons and bowtie just enough he could nuzzle in against Aziraphale’s neck to nip gently along it, leaving kisses in the wake of the tiny bites. Aziraphale groaned with pleasure, his head thrown back, so his hair shone different colours with each firework exploding outside the pod they were in. 

“Thank you, angel,” he whispered in Aziraphale’s ear.

“Thank you for what?” 

“Showing me the holidays. We’ll have to do it again next year. Happy New Year, angel. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Crowley. Happy New Year.”

Pleased his endeavours were not in vain, Aziraphale reached out to Crowley, his fingers playing along Crowley’s short red hair that shone with fiery light with each red explosion. What champagne he did drink had gone straight to his head and he giggled at the thought of making out here in the very public glass pod on the London Eye. Crowley felt the same giddiness and laughed in response, the sound ringing against Aziraphale with a breath of warm air. 

Time passed differently when one was immortal and years flowed by like a fast-moving river, becoming the past in a blink of an eye, but New Year’s had become a special celebration just like the other traditions they kept. Funny how easy it was to take on at least a mantle of human-like behaviour. They had been here since the beginning; six thousand years of humanity had changed them as much as their meddling had changed humanity. To celebrate with that race and with each other was a heady experience. Especially now that they were free.

Crowley lay Aziraphale back on the bench of the pod, gently opening his shirt to continue the foreplay. Nibbles, kisses and licks followed each one dotting the other’s body with them, oblivious to the champagne they were drinking earlier that still sat abandoned far enough way it would not cause them trouble by accidentally being spilt. The fireworks stopped after quite the finale that neither one of them noticed followed by complete silence below as the human crowds dispersed taking their noise with them. It was just them alone in the London Eye engaging in slow foreplay before sex. Sex eventually came — Crowley undid his trousers and pulled down Aziraphale’s as much as he needed for this to work, and they slowly loved each other as time temporarily stopped for them, a rare enough happening without the help of a miracle.


End file.
